I        I  UC-NRLF 

B    3    335    =103 


The   Collected    Poems   of 
WILLIAM  H.  DAVIES 


SOME  NEW  BORZOI  BOOKS 

TALES  OF  THE  PAMPAS 

By  IV.  H.  Hudson 
A  DRAKE  BY  GEORGE! 

By  John  Trevena 
MUSIC  AND  BAD  MANNERS 

By  Carl  Van  V  edit  en 
JOURNALISM  VERSUS  ART 

By  Max  Eastman 
POINTED  ROOFS 

By  Dorothy  Richardson 
SUSSEX  GORSE 

By  Sheila  Kaye-Smith 
THE  CRUSHED  FLOWER 

By  Leonid  Andreyev 
THE  BROWN  MARE 

By  Alfred  Ollivant 
WAR:  A  PLAY 

By  Michael  Artzibashef 
MOLOCH :    A  PLAY 

By  Beulah  Marie  Dix 
"  MORAL  " :    A  PLAY 

By  Ludwig  Thorn  a 
THE  INSPECTOR-GENERAL 

By  Nicolay  Gogol 


y'     v.. 


'^ 


©WlUMM    ftoTffSTE) 


^  VJ.fC     'V'< 


The  Collected  Poems  of 
WILLIAM  H.  DAVIES 


With  a  portrait  by 
William  Rothenstein 


New  York    •    Alfred  A.  Knopf    •    Mcmxvi 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  BY 
WILLIAM  H.  DAVIES 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


357975 


CONTENTS 


TITLE 

Thunderstorms    from 

Songs  of  Joy   " 

The    Moon     " 

The    Rain    " 

Laughing    Rose     " 

Infancy    " 

Leisure    " 

The   Visitor    " 

The   Kingfisher     " 

The    Inexpressible    ....  " 

Charms    " 

Autumn     " 

This   Night     " 

In   May   " 

Days  too   short    " 

The  Sleepers    " 

Child  Lovers   " 

Sweet    Stay-at-Home    .  .  " 

The   Elements    " 

Come,  thou  sweet  Won- 
der      " 

A  Maiden  and  her  hair  " 

Day's  Black   Star    " 

The  Example     " 

The  Ox   " 

The  Two  Children    ...  " 

The  Mind's  Liberty   ...  " 

The  Battle   " 


SOURCE  PAGE 

Foliage "    ii 

'  Songs   of  Joy "    12 

'  The  Bird  of  Paradise  "  14 

Nature   Poems"    15 

Foliage "    16 

Bird  of  Paradise  "  . . . .  17 

'  Songs  of  Joy  "  18 

Child  Lovers  "   19 

Farewell  to  Poesy  "...  20 

Child  Lovers"   21 

"            "          22 

The  Soul's  Destroyer  "  24 

Child  Lovers  "   25 

Songs  of  Joy  "   26 

28 

29 

Child  Lovers  "   31 

Foliage"    33 

Songs  of  Joy  "   35 

Child  Lovers  "   37 

Nature  Poems"   38 

40 

Songs  of  Joy  "   41 

New  Poems  "   42 

Child  Lovers  "  44 

Bird  of  Paradise  "  .  .  .  .  45 

Nature  Poems  "  46 


CONTENTS 


TITLE 
The  Lonely  Dreamer    . 
The  East  in  Gold   .... 
A    Mother    to    her    sick 

Child    

The  Happy  Child  .... 
To  Sparrows  fighting.  . 
The  White  Cascade  . . . 

Nell   Barnes    

In  the  Country   

Nature's    Friend    

The    Flood    

Christ  the  Man   

Dreams  of  the  Sea   .... 

A   Great  Time    

Man      

Truly    Great    

The   Sluggard    

When    on    a    Summer's 

Morn    from 

Farewell  to  Poesy    . . . 

Early  Morn    

Robin  Redbreast   

A   Lovely  Woman    . . . 

Friends    

The  Laughers   

The  Boy    

The  Dark  Hour    

Jenny  Wren     

Kitty  and   I    

A  Drinking  Song   .... 

Money    

Sadness  and  Joy   

Fancy's   Home    

Happy  Wind    

Sleep    


SOURCE  PAGE 

Foliage "    47 

Songs  of  Joy  "   48 

Child  Lovers"   49 

Songs  of  Joy  "  50 

51 

Child  Lovers  " 52 

Bird  of  Paradise  "  .  . .  .  53 

'  Farewell  to  Poesy  "   .  .  55 

Nature  Poems  "   57 

'  Songs  of  Joy  "   59 

60 

Foliage "    61 

Bird  of  Paradise  "  .  . .  .  63 

Songs  of  Joy  "  64 

Nature  Poems  "   66 

Farewell  to  Poesy"   ..  68 

'  Bird  of  Paradise  "...  69 

Farewell  to  Poesy  "'    .  .  70 

Nature  Poems"   71 

72 

73 

■  Child  Lovers  "   75 

'  Nature  Poems  "   77 

79 

'Farewell  to  Poesv "    ..  81 

83 

Child   Lovers"    85 

Soul's  Destroyer  " 87 

Nature  Poems  "   89 

'  Songs  of  Joy"  91 

93 

'  Farewell  to  Poesy  "   . .  94 

Soul's  Destroyer  "   . . . .  95 


CONTENTS 


TITLE 

When  I  am  old  " 

Joy  and  Pleasure   " 

The  Heap  of  Rags    ...  " 

The  Hawk   " 

The  Weeping  Child   ..  " 

Seeking  Beauty   " 

Margery    " 

A   Greeting    " 

The  Hermit  " 

The  Bird-Man    " 

Sheep     " 

The  Idiot  and  the  Child  " 

Starers    " 

Plants    and    Men    " 

The  One  Singer   " 

Lines  from  "  The  Soul's 

Destroyer "     " 

April's    Charms     " 

The  Call  of  the  Sea   . .  " 

Her  Absence    " 

The  Dreaming  Boy   ...  " 

Whom  I  know    " 

The  Power  of  Music   .  " 

The    Muse    " 

The   Owl    " 

My  Lady   Comes    " 

The   Daisy    " 

Fairies,   take   Care    ....  " 

A  Blind   Child    " 

Thou   comest,    May    ...  " 

The  Best  Friend    " 

Rich    Days    " 

"  The  Ways  of  Time  "  from 

The  Bird  of  Paradise  .  " 

This    World     " 


SOURCE  PAGE 

"  Bird  of  Paradise  "...  97 

"  Nature  Poems  "   98 

"  Songs  of  Joy  "   100 

"Bird  of  Paradise"   ...  102 

103 

"  Songs  of  Joy "   104 

"  New  Poems  "  106 

'Foliage"    107 

"Bird    of   Paradise"    ..  108 

'  Foliage  "    109 

'  Songs  of  Joy"   110 

'Farewell  to  Poesy"   ..  113 

'Bird  of  Paradise"   ...  113 

"4 

'  Child  Lovers  "  115 

'  Soul's  Destroyer  " 116 

'  Child  Lovers  "  117 

'Farewell  to  Poesy"   ..  118 

'Bird  of  Paradise"   ...  120 

"  "  121 

'  Foliage  "    123 

'  Songs   of   Joy" 124 

'  Nature  Poems"  126 

'  Songs  of  Joy  "   127 

'  Child  Lovers  "  128 

■  Nature  Poems  "  129 

'  Songs  of  Joy  "   131 

'  New  Poems  "  133 

'  Child  Lovers  "  135 

Bird  of  Paradise"   ...  136 

137 

New  Poems"   138 

Bird  of  Paradise"   ...  139 

141 


CONTENTS 


TITLE 

A    Woman's    Charms.. 
The  Lodging-house   fire 

Body  and  Spirit   

Catharine    

Strong  Moments   

The  Little  Ones   

Night  Wanderers   

Love's   Coming    

Where  we  differ    

Parted    

The  Blind  Boxer    

Now     

Clouds    

The    Posts    

No  Master    

Rich  or  Poor   

The   Sea    

A  Life's  Love   

Sweet  Child   

Death's  Game    

April  Boys  and  Girls.. 

Newcomers      

Sweet   Youth    

A  Plain  Life   

Heaven    

Ale     

The    Likeness    

A   Fleeting  Passion    .  . . . 

The      Child      and      the 

Mariner     


SOURCE  PACE 

"  Foliage"    142 

"  Soul's  Destroyer  "   ....  144 

"  Child  Lovers  "  148 

"New  Poems"   150 

"  Foliage  "    152 

"Songs  of  Joy"   153 

"  Foliage  "    155 

"  Soul's  Destroyer "   ....  156 

"  Nature  Poems  "   158 

"  New  Poems  "  159 

Manuscript    160 

"Farewell  to  Poesy"   ..  162 

164 

"  Songs  of  Joy"   166 

"Farewell  to  Poesy"   ..  167 

"  Songs  of  Joy  "  168 

"  Nature  Poems  "  169 

171 

"Bird  of  Paradise"   ...  172 

"Farewell  to  Poesy"   ..  173 

Manuscript    174 

"  New  Poems  "   175 

"  Nature  Poems  "   177 

Manuscript    178 

"Bird  of  Paradise"   ...  179 

"  New  Poems  "   180 


Songs  of  Joy"  184 


10 


ERRATA 
POEMS 

Rain.     Last  line  but  one  should  end  with  a  colon. 

The  Inexpressible.     Divide  as  three  verses  of  4  lines  each. 

Antutnn.     2nd  and  3rd  lines  should  be  set  in,  as  they  rhyme. 

Lonely   Dreamer.     2nd   line   of    2nd    verse    should    begin   "Those,"    not 

"Their." 
In  the  Country.     3rd  line  ist  verse  delete  comma   after  "woman,"   and 

alter  semicolon   after   "care"    to   comma.     4th   line   delete   comma 

after  "man."  , 
When  on  a  Siimmers  Morn.     4th   line   of   ist  verse,   alter   full   stop    to 

semicolon. 
Early  Morn.     Last  line  but  three,  alter  "  ships  "  to  "  ship." 
Sleep.     i6th  line,  alter  "my"  to  "a."     ("And  in  a  lady's  bower.") 
Seeking  Beauty.     Last  line,  use  small  "d  "  for  "  Distress." 
Starers.     Last  line  to  read:  "That  try  to  stare  like  the  big  moon." 
The  Call  of  the  Sea.     i8th  line  to  read:   "Men  of  one  voyage,  when 

they  spend." 
Thou  contest  May.     Last  line  but  one,  add  comma  after  "  homes." 
Lodging  House  Fire.     2nd  line  of  fifth  verse,  to  begin  "  Six  hours." 

"  "         "        Last  line  nth  verse,  delete  comma  at  end. 

Body  and  Spirit.     3rd  line  2nd  verse  "  their"  should  be,  "there." 
Loves   Coming,     ist  line    last   verse    alter    to    "  I   do   not   know,"    not 

"  Is  not  my  say." 
Clouds.     3rd  line  3rd  verse,  delete  comma  after  "small." 
Rich  or  Poor.     3rd  line  ist  verse  should  end  "crowns"  not  "crown." 
A  Fleeting  Passion.     Even  lines  should   be  set   in   throughout,   as   they 

rhyme. 
Child  and  Mariner.     2nd  line  should  read  "things"  not  "thing." 
"        "  "  60th  line,  "Rose"  should  read  "grown." 


THUNDERSTORMS 

MY  mind  has  thunderstorms, 
That  brood  for  heavy  hours: 
Until  they  rain  me  words; 

My  thoughts  are  drooping  flowers 
And  sulking,  silent  birds. 

Yet  come,  dark  thunderstorms. 
And  brood  your  heavy  hours; 

For  when  you  rain  me  words. 

My  thoughts  are  dancing  flowers 

And  joyful  singing  birds. 


SONGS  OF  JOY 

SING  out,  my  Soul,  thy  songs  of  joy; 
Such  as  a  happy  bird  will  sing 
Beneath  a  Rainbow's  lovely  arch 
In  early  spring. 

Think  not  of  Death  in  thy  young  days ; 

Why  shouldst  thou  that  grim  tyrant  fear  ? 
And  fear  him  not  when  thou  art  old, 

And  he  is  near. 

Strive  not  for  gold,  for  greedy  fools 

Measure  themselves  by  poor  men  never; 

Their  standard  still  being  richer  men. 
Makes  them  poor  ever. 

Train  up  thy  mind  to  feel  content, 

What  matters  then  how  low  thy  store? 

What  we  enjoy,  and  not  possess. 
Makes  rich  or  poor. 
12 


SONGS  OF  JOY 

Filled  with  sweet  thought,  then  happy  I 
Take  not  my  state  from  other's  eyes; 

What's  in  my  mind  —  not  on  my  flesh 
Or  theirs  —  I  prize. 

Sing,  happy  Soul,  thy  songs  of  joy; 

Such  as  a  Brook  sings  in  the  wood. 
That  all  night  has  been  strengthened  by 

Heaven's  purer  flood. 


13 


THE  MOON 

THY  beauty  haunts  me  heart  and  soul, 
O  thou  fair  IVIoon,  so  close  and  bright : 
Thy  beauty  makes  me  like  the  child, 

That  cries  aloud  to  own  thy  light: 
The  little  child  that  lifts  each  arm, 
To  press  thee  to  her  bosom  warm.. 

Though  there  are  birds  that  sing  this  night 
With  thy  white  beams  across  their  throats, 

Let  my  deep  silence  speak  for  me 

More  than  for  them  their  sweetest  notes: 

Who  worships  thee  till  music  fails, 

Is  greater  than  thy  nightingales. 


u 


THE  RAIN 

T  HEAR  leaves  drinking  Rain; 

•■■     I  hear  rich  leaves  on  top 
Giving  the  poor  beneath 

Drop  after  drop; 
'Tis  a  sweet  noise  to  hear 
These  green  leaves  drinking  near. 

And  when  the  Sun  comes  out, 
After  this  Rain  shall  stop, 

A  wondrous  Light  will  fill 
Each  dark,  round  drop; 

I  hope  the  Sun  shines  bright;  ,' 

'Twill  be  a  lovely  sight. 


15 


LAUGHING  ROSE 

T  F  I  were  gusty  April  now, 
■*■    How  I  would  blow  at  laughing  Rose ; 
I'd  make  her  ribbons  slip  their  knots, 
And  all  her  hair  come  loose. 

If  I  were  merry  April  now. 

How  I  would  pelt  her  cheeks  with  showers; 
I'd  make  carnations,  rich  and  warm, 

Of  her  vermilion  flowers. 

Since  she  will  laugh  in  April's  face. 
No  matter  how  he  rains  or  blows  — 

Then  O  that  I  wild  April  were, 
To  play  with  laughing  Rose. 


i6 


INFANCY 

T3  ORN  to  the  world  with  my  hands  clenched, 
■*-'  I  wept  and  shut  my  eyes ; 
Into  my  mouth  a  breast  was  forced, 

To  stop  my  bitter  cries. 
I  did  not  know  —  nor  cared  to  know  — 

A  woman  from  a  man  ; 
Until  I  saw  a  sudden  light. 

And  all  my  joys  began. 

From  that  great  hour  my  hands  went  forth, 

And  I  began  to  prove 
That  many  a  thing  my  two  eyes  saw 

My  hands  had  power  to  move : 
My  fingers  now  began  to  work, 

And  all  my  toes  likewise  ; 
And  reaching  out  with  fingers  stretched, 

I  laughed,  with  open  eyes. 


17 


w 


LEISURE 

HAT  is  this  life  if,  full  of  care, 
We  have  no  time  to  stand  and  stare. 


No  time  to  stand  beneath  the  boughs 
And  stare  as  long  as  sheep  or  cows. 

No  time  to  see,  when  woods  we  pass. 
Where  squirrels  hide  their  nuts  in  grass. 

No  time  to  see,  in  broad  daylight, 
Streams  full  of  stars,  like  stars  at  night. 

No  time  to  turn  at  Beauty's  glance, 

And  watch  her  feet,  how  they  can  dance. 

No  time  to  wait  till  her  mouth  can 
Enrich  that  smile  her  eyes  began. 

A  poor  life  this  if,  full  of  care, 
We  have  no  time  to  stand  and  stare. 
i8 


THE  VISITOR 

SHE  brings  that  breath,  and  music  too, 
That  comes  when  April's  days  begin 
And  sweetness  Autumn  never  had 
In  any  bursting  skin. 

She's  big  with  laughter  at  the  breasts, 

Like  netted  fish  they  leap: 
Oh  God,  that  I  were  far  from  here. 

Or  lying  fast  asleep! 


19 


THE  KINGFISHER 

IT  was  the  Rainbow  gave  thee  birth, 
And  left  thee  all  her  lovely  hues; 
And,  as  her  mother's  name  was  Tears, 

So  runs  it  in  thy  blood  to  choose 
For  haunts  the  lonely  pools,  and  keep 
In  company  with  trees  that  weep. 

Go  you  and,  with  such  glorious  hues, 
Live  with  proud  Peacocks  in  green  parks ; 

On  lawns  as  smooth  as  shining  glass, 
Let  every  feather  show  its  mark ; 

Get  thee  on  boughs  and  clap  thy  wings 

Before  the  windows  of  proud  kings. 

Nay,  lovely  Bird,  thou  art  not  vain; 

Thou  hast  no  proud  ambitious  mind ; 
I  also  love  a  quiet  place 

That's  green,  away  from  all  mankind ; 
A  lonely  pool,  and  let  a  tree 
Sigh  with  her  bosom  over  me. 
20 


THE  INEXPRESSIBLE 

npHINKING  of  my  caged  birds  indoors, 
-■•      My  books,  whose  music  serves  my  will 
Which,  when  I  bid  them  sing,  will  sing. 
And  when   I  sing  myself  are  still; 

And  that  my  scent  is  drops  of  ink, 
Which,  were  my  song  as  great  as  I 

Would  sweeten  man  till  he  was  dust. 
And  make  the  world  one  Araby; 

Thinking  how  my  hot  passions  make 

Strong  floods  of  shallows  that  run  cold  - 

Oh  how  I  burn  to  make  my  dreams 

Lighten  and  thunder  through  the  world. 


CHARMS 

SHE  walks  as  lightly  as  the  fly 
Skates  on  the  water  in  July. 

To  hear  her  moving  petticoat, 
For  me  is  music's  highest  note. 


Stones  are  not  heard,  when  her  feet  pass, 
No  more  than  tumps  of  moss  or  grass. 

When  she  sits  still,  she's  like  the  flower 
To  be  a  butterfly  next  hour. 

The  brook  laughs  not  more  sweet,  when  he 
Trips  over  pebbles  suddenly. 

My  Love,  like  him,  can  whisper  low  — 
When  he  comes  where  green  cresses  grow. 

She  rises  like  the  lark,  that  hour 
He  goes  halfway  to  meet  a  shower. 
22 


CHARMS 

A  fresher  drink  is  in  her  looks 
Than  Nature  gives  me,  or  old  books. 

When  I  in  my  Love's  shadow  sit, 
I  do  not  miss  the  sun  one  bit. 

When  she  is  near,  my  arms  can  hold 
All  that's  w^orth  having  in  this  world. 

And  when  I  know  not  where  she  is, 
Nothing  can  come  but  comes  amiss. 


23 


AUTUMN 

AUTUMN  grows  old:  he,  like  some  simple  one, 
In  Summer's  castaway  is  strangely  clad ; 
Such  withered  things  the  winds  in  frolic  mad 
Shake  from  his  feeble  hand  and  forehead  wan. 

Autumn  is  sighing  for  his  early  gold. 
And  in  his  tremble  dropping  his  remains; 
The  brook  talks  more,  as  one  bereft  of  brains, 
Who  singeth  loud,  delirious  with  the  cold. 

0  now  with  drowsy  June  one  hour  to  be ! 
Scarce  waking  strength  to  hear  the  hum  of  bees, 
Ot  cattle  lowing  under  shady  trees, 

Knee  deep  in  waters  loitering  to  the  sea. 

1  would  that  drowsy  June  awhile  were  here. 
The  amorous  South  wind  carrying  all  the  vale  — 
Save  that  white  lily  true  to  star  as  pale. 
Whose  secret  day-dream  Phoebus  burns  to  hear. 


THIS  NIGHT 

'  I  ''HIS  night,  as  I  sit  here  alone, 

•*•      And  brood  on  what  is  dead  and  gone, 
The  owl  that's  in  this  Highgate  Wood, 
Has  found  his  fellow  in  my  mood ; 
To  every  star,  as  it  doth  rise  — 
Oh-o-o !  Oh-o-o !  he  shivering  cries. 

And,  looking  at  the  Moon  this  night. 
There's  that  dark  shadow  in  her  light. 
Ah !  Life  and  Death,  my  fairest  -one. 
Thy  lover  is  a  skeleton! 
"  And  why  is  that?  "  I  question  — "  why?  " 
Oh-o-o!  Oh-o-o!  the  owl  doth  cry. 


25 


IN  MAY 

YES,  I  will  spend  the  livelong  day 
With  Nature  in  this  month  of  May ; 
i  And  sit  beneath  the  trees,  and  share 
\My  bread  with  birds  whose  homes  are  there; 
While  cows  lie  down  to  eat,  and  sheep 
Stand  to  their  necks  in  grass  so  deep  ; 
While  birds  do  sing  with  all  their  might, 
As  though  they  felt  the  earth  in  flight. 
This  is  the  hour  I  dreamed  of,  when 
I  sat  surrounded  by  poor  men; 
And  thought  of  how  the  Arab  sat 
Alone  at  evening,  gazing  at 
The  stars  that  bubbled  in  clear  skies; 

And  of  young  dreamers,  when  their  eyes 
Enjoyed  methought  a  precious  boon 
In  the  adventures  of  the  Moon 
Whose  light,  behind  the  Clouds'  dark  bars. 
Searched  for  her  stolen  flocks  of  stars. 
When  I,  hemmed  in  by  wrecks  of  men, 
Thought  of  some  lonely  cottage  then, 
26 


IN  MAY 

Full  of  sweet  books;  and  miles  of  sea, 
With  passing  ships,  in  front  of  me ; 
And  having,  on  the  other  hand, 
A  flowery,  green,  bird-singing  land. 


27 


DAYS  TOO  SHORT 

WHEN  Primroses  are  out  in  Spring 
And  small,  blue  violets  come  between ; 
When  merry  birds  sing  on  boughs  green, 
And  rills,  as  soon  as  born,  must  sing; 

When  butterflies  will   make   side-leaps, 
As  though  escaped  from  Nature's  hand 
Ere  perfect  quite;  and  bees  will  stand 

Upon   their  heads   in    fragrant   deeps; 

When  small  clouds  are  so  silver}^  white 
Each  seems  a  broken  rimmed  moon  — 
When  such  things  are,  this  world  too  soon. 

For  me,  doth  wear  the  veil  of  Night. 


28 


THE  SLEEPERS 

AS   I  walked  down  the  waterside 
This  silent  morning,  wet  and  dark 
Before  the  cocks  in  farmyards  crowed, 

Before  the  dogs  began  to  bark; 
Before  the  hour  of  five  was  struck 
By  old  Westminster's  mighty  clock: 

As  I  walked  down  the  waterside 
This  morning,  in  the  cold  damp  air, 

I  saw  a  hundred  women  and  men 
Huddled  in  rags  and  sleeping  there: 

These  people  have  no  work,  thought  I, 

And  long  before  their  time  they  die. 

That  moment,  on  the  waterside, 
A  lighted  car  came  at  a  bound ; 

I    looked    inside,    and    saw   a   score 

Of  pale  and  weary  men  that  frowned; 

Each  man  sat  in  a  huddled  heap, 

Carried   to  work  while  fast  asleep. 

29 


THE  SLEEPERS 

Ten  cars  rushed  down  the  waterside, 
Like  lighted  coffins  in  the  dark ; 

With  twenty  dead  men  in  each  car, 
That  must  be  brought  alive  by  work: 

These  people  work  too  hard,  thought  I, 

And  long  before  their  time  they  die. 


30 


CHILD  LOVERS 

SIX  summers  old  was  she,  and  when  she  came 
Her  head  was  in  an  everlasting  flame; 
The  golden  fire  it  licked  her  neck  and  face, 
But  left  no  mark  of  soot  in  any  place. 

When  this  young  thing  had  seen  her  lover  boy, 
She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  for  joy; 
Then,  paired  like  hazel  nuts,  those  two  were  seen 
To  make  their  way  towards  the  meadows  green. 

Now,  to  a  field  they  came  at  last,  which  was 
So  full  of  buttercups  they  hid  the  grass; 
'Twas  fit  for  kings  to  meet,  and  councils  hold  — 
You  never  saw  so  fine  a  cloth  of  gold. 

Then  in  a  while  they  to  a  green  park  came, 
A  captain  owned  it,  and  they  knew  his  name; 
And  what  think  you  those  happy  children  saw? 
The  big,  black  horse  that  once  was  in  a  war. 
31 


CHILD  LOVERS 

Now  soon  she  tied  her  lover  with  some  string, 
And  laughed,  and  danced  around  him  in  a  ring; 
He,  like  a  flower  that  gossamer  has  tied, 
Stood  standing  quiet  there,  and  full  of  pride. 


Lord,  how  she  laughed!     Her  golden  ringlets  shook 
As  fast  as  lambs'  tails,  when  those  youngsters  suck ; 
Sweeter  than  that  enchantress  laughed,  when  she 
Shut  Merlin  fast  forever  in  a  tree. 


As  they  went  home,  that  little  boy  began: 
"  Love  me  and,  when  I'm  a  big  sailor-man, 
I'll  bring  you  home  more  coral,  silk,  and  gold, 
Than  twenty-five  four-funnelled  ships  could  hold. 


"  And  fifty  coffins  carried  to  their  grave, 
Will  not  have  half  the  lilies  you  shall  have: 
Now  say  at  once  that  you  will  be  my  love  — 
And  have  a  pearl  ten  stallions  could  not  move." 


32 


SWEET  STAY-AT-HOME 

SWEET  Stay-at-Home,  sweet  Well-content, 
Thou  knowest  of  no  strange  continent: 
Thou  hast  not  felt  thy  bosom  keep 
A  gentle  motion  with  the  deep ; 
Thou  hast  not  sailed   in   Indian  seas, 
Where  scent  comes  forth  in  every  breeze. 
Thou  hast  not  seen  the  rich  grape  grow 
For  miles,  as  far  as  eyes  can  go; 
Thou  hast  not  seen  a  summer's  night 
When  maids  could  sew  by  a  worm's  light; 
Nor  the  North  Sea  in  spring  send  out 
Bright  hues  that  like  birds  flit  about 
In  solid  cages  of  white  ice  — 
Sweet  Stay-at-Home,  all  these  long  hours. 
Thou  hast  not  seen  black  fingers  pick 
White  cotton  when  the  bloom  is  thick. 
Nor  heard  black  throats  in  harmony; 
Nor  hast  thou  sat  on  stones  that  lie 
Flat  on  the  earth,  that  once  did  rise 
To  hide  proud  kings  from  common  eyes, 
Thou  hast  not  seen  plains  full  of  bloom 
33 


SWEET  STAY-AT-HOME 

Where  green  things  had  such  little  room 
They  pleased  the  eye  like  fairer  flowers  — 
Sweet  Stay-at-Home,  all  these  long  hours. 
Sweet  Well-content,  sweet  Love-one-place, 
Sweet,  simple  maid,  bless  thy  dear  face; 
For  thou  hast  made  more  homely  stuff 
Nurture  thy  gentle  self  enough ; 
I   love  thee  for  a  heart  that's  kind  — 
Not  for  the  know^ledge  in  thy  mind. 


34 


THE  ELEMENTS 

NO  house  of  stone 
Was  built  for  me; 
When  the  Sun  shines  — 
I  am  a  bee. 


No  sooner  comes 
The  Rain  so  warm, 

I  come  to  light  — 
I  am  a  worm. 

When  the  Winds  blow, 

I  do  not  strip, 
But  set  my  sails  — 

I  am  a  ship. 

When  Lightning  comes, 
It  plays  with  me 

And  I  with  it  — 
I  am  a  tree. 
35 


rilE  ELEMENTS 

When  drowned  men  rise 
At  Thunder's  word, 

Sings   Nightingale  — 
I  am  a  bird. 


36 


COME,  THOU  SWEET  WONDER 

COME,  thou  sweet  Wonder,  by  whose  power 
We  more  or  less  enjoy  our  years; 
That  mak'st  a  child  forget  the  breast, 

And  dri'st  at  once  the  children's  tears, 
Till  sleep  shall  bring  their  minds  more  rest. 

Come  to  my  heavy  rain  of  care, 

And  make  it  weigh  like  dew ;  charm  me 

With  Beauty's  hair,  her  eyes  or  lips; 
With  mountain  dawn,  or  sunset  sea 

That's  like  a  thousand  burning  ships. 


37 


A  MAIDEN  AND  HER  HAIR 

HER  cruel  hands  go  in  and  out, 
Like  two  pale  woodmen  working  there, 
To  make  a  nut-brown  thicket  clear  — 
The  full,  wild  foliage  of  her  hair. 

Her  hands  now  work  far  up  the  North, 
Then,  fearing  for  the  South's  extreme, 

They  into  her  dark  waves  of  hair 

Dive  down  so  quick  —  it  seems  a  dream. 

They're  in  the  light  again  with  speed, 
Tossing  the  loose  hair  to  and  fro. 

Until,  like  tamed  snakes,  the  coils 
Lie  on  her  bosom  in  a  row. 

For  wise  inspection,  up  and  down 
One  coil  her  busy  hands  now  run; 

To  screw  and  twist,  to  turn  and  shape, 
And  here  and  there  to  work  like  one. 
38 


A  MAIDEN  AND  HER  HAIR 

And  now  those  white  hands,  still  like  one, 

Are  working  at  the  perilous  end; 
Where  they  must  knot  those  nut-brown  coils, 

Which  will  hold  fast,  though  still  they'll  bend. 

Sometimes  one  hand  must  fetch  strange  tools, 

The  other  then  must  work  alone; 
But  when  more  instruments  are  brought, 

They  both  make  up  the  time  that's  gone. 

Now  that  her  hair  is  bound  secure, 

Coil  top  of  coil,  in  smaller  space. 
Ah,  now  I  see  how  smooth  her  brow, 

And  her  simplicity  of  face. 


39 


DAY'S  BLACK  STAR 

IS  it  that  small  black  star, 
Twinkling  in  broad  daylight, 
Upon  the  bosom  of 

Yon  cloud  so  white  — 
Is  it  that  small  black  thing 
Makes  earth  and  all'  Heaven  ring! 

Sing,  you  black  star;  and  soar 

Until,  alas!  too  soon 
You  fall  to  earth  in  one 

Long  singing  swoon; 
But  you  will  rise  again 
To  heaven,  from  this  green  plain. 

Sing,  sing,  sweet  star;  though  black, 
Your  company's  more  bright 

Than  any  star  that  shines 
With  a  w-hite  light; 

Sing,   Skylark,   sing;  and   give 

To  me  thy  joy  to  live. 


THE  EXAMPLE 

HERE'S  an  example  from 
A  Butterfly; 
That  on  a  rough,  hard  rock 

Happy  can  He; 
Friendless  and  all  alone 
On  this  unsweetened  stone. 

Now  let  my  bed  be  hard, 

No  care  take  I ; 
I'll  make  my  joy  like  this 

Small  Butterfly; 
Whose  happy  heart  has  power 
To  make  a  stone  a  flower. 


41 


/  THE  OX 

WHY  should  I  pause,  poor  beast,  to  praise 
Thy  back  so  red,  thy  sides  so  white ; 
And  on  thy  brow  those  curls  in  which 
\Thy  mournful  eyes  take  no  delight? 

I  dare  not  make  fast  friends  with  kine, 
Nor  sheep,  nor  fowl  that  cannot  fly; 

For  they  live  not  for  Nature's  voice, 
Since  'tis  man's  will  when  they  must  die. 

So,  if  I  call  thee  some  pet  name. 
And  give  thee  of  my  care  to-day, 

Where  wilt  thou  be  to-morrow  morn, 
When  I  turn  curious  eyes  thy  way? 

Nay,  I'll  not  miss  what  I'll  not  find, 
And  I'll  find  no  fond  cares  for  thee; 

So  take  away  those  great  sad  eyes 
That  stare  across  yon  fence  at  me. 
42 


THE  OX 

See  you  that  Robin,  by  himself, 

Perched  on  that  leafless  apple  branch, 

His  breast  like  one  red  apple  left  — 
The  last  and  best  of  all  —  by  chance? 

If  I  do  but  give  heed  to  him. 
He  will  come  daily  to  my  door; 

And  'tis  the  will  of  God,  not  Man, 
When  Robin  Redbreast  comes  no  more. 


43 


THE  TWO  CHILDREN 

4  4  AH,  little  boy!  I  see 

^^     You  have  a  wooden  spade. 
Into  this  sand  you  dig 

So  deep  —  for  what?  "  I  said. 
"  There's  more  rich  gold,"  said  he, 

"  Down  under  where  I  stand, 
Than  twenty  elephants 

Could  move  across  the  land." 

"Ah,  little  girl  with  wool!  — 

What  are  you  making  now?" 
"  Some  stockings  for  a  bird, 

To  keep  his  legs  from  snow." 
And  there  those  children  are, 

So  happy,  small,  and  proud: 
The  boy  that  digs  his  grave. 

The  girl  that  knits  her  shroud. 


44 


THE  MIND'S  LIBERTY 

THE  mind,  with  its  own  eyes  and  ears, 
May  for  these  others  have  no  care ; 
No  matter  where  this  body  is. 

The  mind  is  free  to  go  elsewhere. 
My  mind  can  be  a  sailor,  when 

This  body's  still  confined  to  land; 
And  turn  these  mortals  into  trees, 

That  walk  in  Fleet  Street  or  the  Strand. 

So,  when  I'm  passing  Charing  Cross, 

Where  porters  work  both  night  and  day, 
I  ofttimes  hear  sweet  Malpas  Brook, 

That  flows  thrice  fifty  miles  away. 
And  when  I'm  passing  near  St.  Paul's, 

I  see,  beyond  the  dome  and  crowd, 
Tom  Barium,  that  green  pap  in  Gwent, 

With  its  dark  nipple  in  a  cloud. 


45 


THE  BATTLE 

THERE  was  a  battle  in  her  face, 
Between  a  Lily  and  a  Rose : 
My  love  would  have  the  Lily  win 
And  I  the  Lily  lose. 

I  saw  with  joy  that  strife,  first  one, 
And  then  the  other  uppermost; 

Until  the  Rose  roused  all  its  blood, 
And  then  the  Lily  lost. 

When  she's  alone,  the  Lily  rules, 
By  her  consent,  without  mistake: 

But  when  I  come  that  red  Rose  leaps 
To  battle  for  my  sake. 


46 


THE  LONELY  DREAMER 

HE  lives  his  lonely  life,  and  when  he  dies 
A  thousand  hearts  maybe  will  utter  sighs ; 
Because  they  liked  his  songs,  and  now  their  bird 
Sleeps  with  his  head  beneath  his  wing,  unheard. 

But  what  kind  hand  will  tend  his  grave,  and  bring 
Their  blossoms  there,  of  which  he  used  to  sing? 
Who'll  kiss  his  mound,  and  wish  the  time  would  come 
To  lie  with  him  inside  that  silent  tomb? 

And  who'll  forget  the  dreamer's  skill,  and  shed 
A  tear  because  a  loving  heart  is  dead? 
Heigh  ho  for  gossip  then,  and  common  sighs  — 
And  let  his  death  bring  tears  to  no  one's  eyes. 


47 


THE  EAST  LN  GOLD 

SOMEHOW  this  world  is  wonderful  at  times, 
As  it  has  been  from  early  morn  in  May ; 
Since  first   I   heard   the  cock-a-doodle-do, 

Time  keeper  on  green  farms  —  at  break  of  day. 

Soon  after  that  I  heard  ten  thousand  birds, 
Which  made  me  think  an  angel  brought  a  bin 

Of  golden  grain,  and  none  was  scattered  yet  — 
To  rouse  those  birds  to  make  that  merry  din. 

I  could  not  sleep  again,  for  such  wild  cries. 
And  went  out  early  into  their  green  world ; 

And  then  I  saw  what  set  their  little  tongues 

To  scream  for  joy  —  they  saw  the  East  in  gold. 


48 


A  MOTHER  TO  HER  SICK  CHILD 

THOU  canst  not  understand  my  words 
No  love  for  me  was  meant: 
The  smile  that  lately  crossed  thy  face 
Was  but  an  accident. 

The  music's  thine,  but  mine  the  tears 

That  make  thy  lullaby ; 
To-day  I'll  rock  thee  into  sleep, 

To-morrow  thou  must  die. 

And  when  our  babies  sleep  their  last, 

Like  aged  dames  or  men, 
They  need  not  mother's  lullaby, 

Nor  any  rocking  then. 


49 


THE  HAPPY  CHILD 

I    SAW   this  day  sweet   flowers   grow   thick. 
But  not  one  like  the  child  did  pick. 

I  heard  the  packhounds  in  green  park  — 
But  no  dog  like  the  child  heard  bark. 


I  heard  this  day  bird  after  bird  — 
But  not  one  like  the  child  has  heard. 

A  hundred  butterflies  saw  I  — 
But  not  one  like  the  child  saw  fly. 

I  saw  the  horses  roll  in  grass  — 

But  no  horse  like  the  child  saw  pass. 

My  world  this  day  has  lovely  been  — 
But  not  like  what  the  child  has  seen. 


50 


TO  SPARROWS  FIGHTING 

STOP,  feathered  bullies! 
Peace,  angry  birds; 
You  common  Sparrows  that, 

For  a  few  words, 
Roll  fighting  in  wet  mud. 
To  shed  each  other's  blood. 

Look  at  those  Linnets,  they 

Like  ladies  sing; 
See  how  those  Swallows,  too. 

Play  on  the  wing; 
All  other  birds  close  by 
Are  gentle,  clean  and  shy. 

And  yet  maybe  your  life's 

As  sweet  as  theirs; 
The  common  poor  that  fight 

Live  not  for  years 
In  one  long  frozen  state 
Of  anger,  like  the  great. 
51 


w 


THE  WHITE  CASCADE 

HAT  happy  mortal  sees  that  mountain  now, 
The  white  cascade  that's  shining  on  its  brow: 


The  white  cascade  that's  both  a  bird  and  star, 
That  has  a  ten  mile  voice  and  shines  as  far? 

Though  I  may  never  leave  this  land  again, 
Yet  every  spring  my  mind  must  cross  the  main 

To  hear  and  see  that  water-bird  and  star 
That  on  the  mountain  sings,  and  shines  so  far. 


52 


NELL  BARNES 

THEY  lived  apart  for  three  long  years, 
Bill  Barnes  and  Nell  his  wife; 
He  took  his  joy  from  other  girls, 
She  led  a  wicked  life. 

Yet  ofttimes  she  would  pass  his  shop. 
With  some  strange  man  awhile ; 

And,  looking,  meet  her  husband's  frown 
With  her  malicious  smile. 

Until  one  day,  when  passing  there. 

She  saw  her  man  had  gone; 
And  when  she  saw  the  empty  shop, 

She  fell  down  with  a  moan. 

And  when  she  heard  that  he  had  gone 

Five  thousand  miles  away; 
And  that  she'd  see  his  face  no  more, 

She  sickened  from  that  day. 
53 


NELL  BARNES 

To  see  his  face  was  health  and  life, 

And  when  it  was  denied, 
She  could  not  eat,  and  broke  her  heart 

It  was  for  love  she  died. 


54 


IN  THE  COUNTRY 

THIS  life  is  sweetest;  in  this  wood 
I  hear  no  children  cry  for  food; 
I  see  no  woman,  white  with  care; 
No  man,  with  muscles  w-asting  here. 

No  doubt  it  is  a  selfish  thing 
To  fly  from  human  suffering; 
No  doubt  he  is  a  selfish  man, 
Who  shuns  poor  creatures  sad  and  wan. 

But  'tis  a  wretched  life  to  face 
Hunger  in  almost  every  place; 
Cursed  with  a  hand  that's  empty,  when 
The  heart  is  full  to  help  all  men. 

Can  I  admire  the  statue  great, 
When  living  men  starve  at  its  feet! 
Can  I  admire  the  park's  green  tree, 
A  roof  for  homeless  misery! 
55 


IN  THE  COUNTRY 

When  I  can  see  few  men  in  need, 
I  then  have  power  to  help  by  deed, 
Nor  lose  my  cheerfulness  in  pity  — 
Which  I  must  do  in  every  city. 

For  when  I  am  in  those  great  places, 
I  see  ten  thousand  suffering  faces; 
Before  me  stares  a  wolfish  eye, 
Behind  mc  creeps  a  groan  or  sigh. 


56 


NATURE'S  FRIEND 

SAY  what  you  like, 
All  things  love  me! 
I  pick  no  flowers  — 
That  wins  the  Bee. 

The  Summer's  Moths 
Think  my  hand  one  — 

To  touch  their  wings  — 
With  Wind  and  Sun. 

The  garden  Mouse 
Comes  near  to  play; 

Indeed,  he  turns 
His  eyes  away. 

The  Wren  knows  well 

I  rob  no  nest; 
When  I  look  in. 

She  still  will  rest. 
57 


NATURE'S  FRIEND 

The  hedge  stops  Cows, 
Or  they  would  come 

After  my  voice 

Right  to  my  home. 

The  Horse  can  tell, 
Straight  from  my  lip. 

My  hand  could  not 
Hold  any  whip. 

Say  what  you  like, 
All  things  love  me! 

Horse,  Cow,  and  Mouse, 
Bird,  Moth  and  Bee. 


58 


THE  FLOOD 

I   THOUGHT  my  true  love  slept: 
Behind  her  chair  I  crept 
And  pulled  out  a  long  pin ; 
The  golden  flood  came  out, 
She  shook  it  all  about, 
With  both  our  faces  in. 

Ah !  little  wren,  I  know 
Your  mossy,  small  nest  now 

A  windy,  cold  place  is; 
No  eye  can  see  my  face, 
Howe'er  it  watch  the  place 

Where  I  half  drown  in  bliss. 

When  I  am  drowned  half  dead, 
She  laughs  and  shakes  her  head; 

Flogged  by  her  hair-waves,  I 
Withdraw  my  face  from  there; 
But  never  once,  I  swear, 

She  heard  a  mercy-cry. 
59 


CHRIST  THE  MAN 

LORD,  I  say  nothing;  I  profess 
No  faith  in  Thee  nor  Christ  Thy  Son: 
Yet  no  man  ever  heard  me  mock 
A  true  believing  one. 

If  knowledge  is  not  great  enough 

To  give  a  man  believing  power, 
Lord,  he  must  wait  in  Thy  great  hand 

Till  revelation's  hour. 

Meanwhile  he'll  follow  Christ  the  man, 

In  that  humanity  he  taught, 
Which  to  the  poor  and  the  oppressed, 

Gives  its  best  time  and  thought. 


60 


DREAMS  OF  THE  SEA 

I  KNOW  not  why  I  yearn  for  thee  again, 
To  sail  once  more  upon  thy  fickle  flood ; 
I'll  hear  thy  waves  wash  under  my  death-bed, 
Thy  salt  is  lodged  forever  in  my  blood. 

Yet  I  have  seen  thee  lash  the  vessel's  sides 

In  fury,  with  thy  many  tailed  whip  ; 
And  I  have  seen  thee,  too,  like  Galilee, 

When  Jesus  walked  in  peace  to  Sim.on's  ship. 

And  I  have  seen  thy  gentle  breeze  as  soft 

As  summer's,  when  it  makes  the  cornfields  run ; 

And  I  have  seen  thy  rude  and  lusty  gale 

Make  ships  show  half  their  bellies  to  the  sun. 

Thou  knowest  the  way  to  tame  the  wildest  life, 
Thou  knowest  the  way  to  bend  the  great  and  proud 

I  think  of  that  Armada  whose  puffed  sails. 

Greedy  and  large,  came  swallowing  every  cloud. 
6i 


DREAMS  OF  THE  SEA 

But  I  have  seen  the  sea-boj',  young  and  drowned, 
Lying  on  shore  and,  by  thy  cruel  hand, 

A  seaweed  beard  was  on  his  tender  chin. 

His  heaven-blue  eyes  were  filled  with  common  sand. 


And  yet,  for  all,  I  yearn  for  thee  again, 
To  sail  once  more  upon  thy  fickle  flood ; 

I'll  hear  thy  waves  wash  under  my  death-bed, 
Thy  salt  is  lodged  forever  in  my  blood. 


62 


A  GREAT  TIME 

SWEET  Chance,  that  led  my  steps  abroad, 
Beyond  the  town,  where  wild  flowers  grow  ■ 
A  rainbow  and  a  cuckoo,  Lord, 

How  rich  and  great  the  times  are  now! 
Know,  all  ye  sheep 
And  cows,  that  keep 
On  staring  that  I  stand  so  long 

In  grass  that's  wet  from  heavy  rain  — 
A  rainbow  and  a  cuckoo's  song 
May  never  come  together  again ; 
May  never  come 
This  side  the  tomb. 


63 


MAN 

I    SAW  Time   running  by  — 
Stop,  Thief,  was  all  the  cry. 
I  heard  a  voice  say,  Peace ! 
Let  this  vain  clamour  cease. 
Can  ye  bring  lightning  back 
That  leaves  upon  its  track 
Men,  horses,  oak  trees  dead? 
Canst  bring  back  Time?  it  said. 
There's  nothing  in  Man's  mind 
Can  catch  Time  up  behind ; 
In  front  of  that  fast  Thief 
There's  no  one  —  end  this  grief. 
Tut,  what  is  Man?     How  frail! 
A  grain,  a  little  nail, 
The  wind,  a  change  of  cloth  — 
A  fly  can  give  him  death. 
Some  fishes  in  the  sea 
Are  born  to  outlive  thee, 
And  owls,  and  toads,  and  trees  — 
And  is  Man  more  than  these? 
I  see  Man's  face  in  all 
64 


MJN 

Things,  be  they  great  or  small; 

I  see  the  face  of  him 

In  things  that  fly  or  swim ; 

One  fate  for  all,  I  see  — r 

Whatever  that  may  be. 

Imagination  fits 

Life  to  a  day ;  though  its 

Length  were  a  thousand  years, 

'Twould  not  decrease  our  fears; 

What  strikes  men  cold  and  dumb 

Is  that  Death's  time  must  come. 


65 


TRULY  GREAT 

MY  walls  outside  must  have  some  flowers, 
My  walls  within  must  have  some  books; 
A  house  that's  small ;  a  garden  large, 
And  in  it  leafy  nooks. 

A  little  gold  that's  sure  each  week; 

That  comes  not  from  my  living  kind, 
But  from  a  dead  man  in  his  grave, 

Who  cannot  change  his  mind. 

A  lovely  wife,  and  gentle  too; 

Contented  that  no  eyes  but  mine 
Can  see  her  many  charms,  nor  voice 

To  call  her  beauty  fine. 

Where  she  would  in  that  stone  cage  live, 

A  self-made  prisoner,  with  me; 
While  many  a  wild  bird  sang  around. 

On  gate,  on  bush,  on  tree. 
66 


TRULY  GREAT 

And  she  sometimes  to  answer  them, 
In  her  far  sweeter  voice  than  all ; 

Till  birds,  that  loved  to  look  on  leaves, 
Will  doat  on  a  stone  wall. 

With  this  small  house,  this  garden  large. 
This  little  gold,  this  lovely  mate, 

With  health  in  body,  peace  at  heart  — 
Show  me  a  man  more  great. 


67 


THE  SLUGGARD 

AJAR  of  cider  and  my  pipe, 
In  summer,  under  shadj-  tree; 
A  book  of  one  that  made  his  mind 

Live  by  its  sweet  simplicity: 
Then  must  I  laugh  at  kings  who  sit 

In  richest  chambers,  signing  scrolls; 
And  princes  cheered  in  public  ways, 
And  stared  at  by  a  thousand  fools. 

Let  me  be  free  to  wear  my  dreams, 

Like  weeds  in  some  mad  maiden's  hair, 
When  she  believes  the  earth  has  not 

Another  maid  so  rich  and  fair; 
And  proudly  smiles  on  rich  and  poor, 

The  queen  of  all  fair  women  then : 
So  I,  dressed  in  my  idle  dreams. 

Will  think  myself  the  king  of  men. 


WHEN  ON  A  SUMMER'S  MORN 

WHEN  on  a  summer's  morn  I  wake, 
And  open  my  two  eyes, 
Out  to  the  clear,  born-singing  rills 
My  bird-like  spirit  flies. 

To  hear  the  Blackbird,  Cuckoo,  Thrush, 

Or  any  bird  in  song; 
And  common  leaves  that  hum  all  day. 

Without  a  throat  or  tongue. 

And  when  Time  strikes  the  hour  for  sleep. 

Back  in  my  room  alone. 
My  heart  has  many  a  sweet  bird's  song  — 

And  one  that's  all  my  own. 


69 


FAREWELL  TO  POESY 

SWEET  Poesy,  why  art  thou  dumb! 
I  loved  thee  as  my  captive  bird, 
That  sang  me  songs  when  spring  was  gone, 

And  birds  of  freedom  were  not  heard ; 

Nor  dreamt  thou  wouldst  turn  false  and  cold 

When  needed  most,  by  men  grown  old. 

Sweet  Poesy,  why  art  thou  dumb! 

I  fear  thy  singing  days  are  done; 
The  poet  in  my  soul  is  dying, 

And  every  charm  in  life  is  gone ; 
In  vain  birds  scold  and  flowers  do  plead  — 

The  poet  dies,  his  heart  doth  bleed. 


70 


EARLY  MORN 

WHEN  I  did  wake  this  morn  from  sleep, 
It  seemed  I  heard  birds  in  a  dream; 
Then  I  arose  to  take  the  air  — 

The  lovely  air  that  made  birds  scream ; 
Just  as  a  green  hill  launched  the  ship 
Of  gold,  to  take  its  first  clear  dip. 

And  it  began  its  journey  then, 

As  I  came  forth  to  take  the  air; 
The  timid  Stars  had  vanished  quite. 

The  Moon  was  dying  with  a  stare ; 
Horses,  and  kine,  and  sheep  were  seen 
As  still  as  pictures,  in  fields  green. 

It  seemed  as  though  I  had  surprised 
And  trespassed  in  a  golden  world 

That  should  have  passed  while  men  still  slept! 
The  joyful  birds,  the  ships  of  gold. 

The  horses,  kine  and  sheep  did  seem 

As  they  would  vanish  for  a  dream. 
71 


ROBIN  REDBREAST 

ROBIN  on  a  leafless  bough, 
Lord  in  Heaven,  how  he  sings! 
Now  cold  Winter's  cruel  Wind 

Makes  playmates  of  withered  things. 

How  he  sings  for  joy  this  morn ! 

How  his  breast  doth  pant  and  glow! 
Look  you  how  he  stands  and  sings, 

Half-way  up  his  legs  in  snow! 

If  these  crumbs  of  bread   were  pearls, 
And  I  had  no  bread  at  home, 

He  should  have  them  for  that  song; 
Pretty  Robin  Redbreast,  Come. 


72 


A  LOVELY  WOMAN 

NOW  I  can  see  what  Helen  was: 
Men  cannot  see  this  woman  pass 
And  be  not  stirred ;  as  Summer's  Breeze 
Sets  leaves  in  battle  on  the  trees. 
A  woman  moving  gracefully, 
With  golden  hair  enough  for  three, 
Which,  mercifully!  is  not  loose, 
But  lies  in  coils  to  her  head  close; 
With  lovely  eyes,  so  dark  and  blue. 
So  deep,  so  warm,  they  burn  me  through. 
I  see  men  follow  her,  as  though 
Their  homes  were  where  her  steps  should  go. 
She  seemed  as  sent  to  our  cold  race 
For  fear  the  beauty  of  her  face 
Made  Paradise  in  flames  like  Troy  — 
I  could  have  gazed  all  day  with  joy. 
In  fancy  I  could  see  her  stand 
Before  a  savage,  fighting  band, 
And  make  them,  with  her  words  and  looks, 
Exchange  their  spears  for  shepherd's  crooks, 
And  sing  to  sheep  in  quiet  nooks; 
73 


A  LOVELY  WOMAN 

In  fancy  saw  her  beauty  make 

A  thousand  gentle  priests  uptake 

Arms  for  her  sake,  and  shed  men's  blood. 

The  fairest  piece  of  womanhood, 

Lovely  in  feature,  form  and  grace, 

I  ever  saw,  in  any  place. 


74 


FRIENDS 

THEY'RE  creeping  on  the  stairs  outside, 
They're  whispering  soft  and  low; 
Now  up,  now  down,  I  hear  his  friends. 
And  still  they  come  and  go. 

The  sweat  that  runs  my  side,  from  that 

Hot  pit  beneath  my  shoulder. 
Is  not  so  cold  as  he  will  be, 

Before  the  night's  much  older. 

My  fire  I  feed  with  naked  hands. 

No  sound  shall  reach  their  ears; 
I'm  moving  like  the  careful  cat. 

That  stalks  a  rat  it  fears. 

And  as  his  friends  still  come  and  go, 

A  thoughtful  head  is  mine: 
Had  Life  as  many  friends  as  Death, 

Lord,  how  this  world  would  shine! 
75 


FRIENDS 

And  since  I'll  have  so  many  friends, 
When  on  my  death-bed  lying  — 

I  wish  my  life  had  more  love  now, 
And  less  when  I  am  dying. 


76 


THE  LAUGHERS 

MARY  and  Maud  have  met  at  the  door, 
Oh,  now  for  a  din;  I  told  you  so: 
They're  laughing  at  once  with  sweet,  round  mouths, 
Laughing  for  what?  does  any  one  know? 


Is  it  known  to  the  bird  in  the  cage, 

That  he  shrieks  for  joy  his  high  top  notes, 

After  a  silence  so  long  and  grave  — 

What  started  at  once  those  two  sweet  throats? 


Is  it  known  to  the  Wind  that  he  takes 
Advantage  at  once  and  comes  right  in  ? 

Is  it  known  to  the  cock  in  the  yard, 

That  crows  —  the  cause  of  that  merry  din  ? 

Is  it  known  to  the  babe  that  he  shouts? 

Is  it  known  to  the  old,  purring  cat? 
Is  it  known  to  the  dog,  that  he  barks 

For  joy  —  what  Mary  and  Maud  laugh  at? 
77 


THE  LAUGHERS 

Is  it  known  to  themselves?     It  is  not, 
But  beware  of  their  great  shining  eyes; 

For  Mary  and  Maud  will  soon,  I  swear. 
Find  a  cause  to  make  far  merrier  cries. 


78 


THE  BOY 

GO,  little  boy, 
Fill  thee  with  joy 
For  Time  gives  thee 
Unlicensed  hours, 

To  run  in  fields, 
And  roll  in  flowers. 

A  little  boy 
Can  life  enjoy; 

If  but  to  see 
The  horses  pass, 

When  shut  indoors 
Behind  the  glass. 

Go,  little  boy, 
Fill  thee  with  joy ; 

Fear  not,  like  man, 
The  kick  of  wrath. 

That  you  do  lie 

In  some  one's  path. 

79 


THE  BOY 

Time  is  to  thee 
Eternity, 

As  to  a  bird 
Or  butterfly; 

And  in  that  faith 
True  joy  doth  lie. 


80 


THE  DARK  HOUR 

AND  now,  when  merry  winds  do  blow, 
And  rain  makes  trees  look  fresh. 
An  overpowering  staleness  holds 
This  mortal  flesh. 

Though  well  I  love  to  feel  the  rain, 
And  be  by  winds  well  blown  — 

The  mystery  of  mortal  life 
Doth  press  me  down. 

And,  in  this  mood,  come  now  what  will. 

Shine  Rainbow,  Cuckoo  call; 
There  is  no  thing  in  Heaven  or  Earth 

Can  lift  my  soul. 

I  know  not  where  this  state  comes  from- 

No  cause  for  grief  I  know; 
The  Earth  around  is  fresh  and  green. 

Flowers  near  me  grow. 
8i 


THE  DARK  HOUR 

I  sit  between  two  fair  Rose  trees; 

Red  roses  on  my  right, 
And  on  my  left  side  roses  are 

A  lovely  white. 

The  little  birds  are  full  of  joy, 

Lambs  bleating  all  the  day; 
The  colt  runs  after  the  old  mare, 

And  children  play. 

And  still  there  comes  this  dark,  dark  hour 

Which  is  not  born  of  Care; 
Into  my  heart  it  creeps  before 

I  am  aware. 


82 


JENNY  WREN 

TTER  sight  is  short,  she  comes  quite  near; 
-'-■■■  A  foot  to  me's  a  mile  to  her ; 
And  she  is  known  as  Jenny  Wren, 
The  smallest  bird  in  England.     When 
I  heard  that  little  bird  at  first, 
Methought  her  frame  would  surely  burst 
With  earnest  song.     Oft  had  I  seen 
Her  running  under  leaves  so  green, 
Or  in  the  grass  when  fresh  and  wet, 
As  though  her  wings  she  would  forget. 
And,  seeing  this,  I  said  to  her  — 
"  My  pretty  runner,  you  prefer 
To  be  a  thing  to  run  unheard 
Through  leaves  and  grass,  and  not  a  bird !  " 
'Twas  then  she  burst,  to  prove  me  wrong. 
Into  a  sudden  storm  of  song; 
So  very  loud  and  earnest,  I 
Feared  she  would  break  her  heart  and  die. 
"  Nay,  nay,"  I  laughed,  "  be  you  no  thing 
To  run  unheard,  sweet  scold,  but  sing ! 
83 


JENNY  WREN 

O  I  could  hear  your  voice  near  me, 
Above  the  din  in  that  oak  tree, 
When  almost  all  the  twigs  on  top 
Had  starlings  chattering  without  stop. 


84 


KITTY  AND  I 

THE  gentle  wind  that  waves 
The  green  boughs  here  and  there, 
Is  showing  how  my  hand 
Waved  Kitty's  finer  hair. 

The  Bee,  when  all  his  joints 

Are  clinging  to  a  Blossom, 
Is  showing  how  I  clung 

To  Kitty's  softer  bosom. 

The  Rill,  when  his  sweet  voice 

Is  hushed  by  water-cresses. 
Is  Kitty's  sweeter  voice 

Subdued  by  my  long  kisses. 

Those  little  stars  that  shine 

So  happy  in  the  skies, 
Are  those  sweet  babes  I  saw. 

Whose  heaven  was  Kitty's  eyes. 
85 


KITTY  AND  I 

The  Moon,  that  casts  her  beam 
Upon  the  hill's  dark  crest, 

Is  Kitty's  whiter  arm 
Across  my  hairy  breast. 

The  hazel  nuts,  when  paired 
Unseen  beneath  the  boughs, 

Are  Kitty  and  myself, 

Whenever  Chance  allows. 


86 


A  DRINKING  SONG 

A  BEE  goes  mumbling  homeward  pleased, 
He  has  not  slaved  away  his  hours; 
He's  drunken  with  a  thousand  healths 
Of  love  and  kind  regard  for  flowers. 
Pour  out  the  wine, 
His  joy  be  mine. 

Forgetful  of  affairs  at  home, 
He  has  sipped  oft  and  merrily; 
Forgetful  of  his  duty  —  Oh ! 
What  can  he  say  to  his  queen  bee  ? 
He  says  in  wine, 
"  Boo  to  her  shrine!  " 

The  coward  dog  that  wags  his  tail, 
And  rubs  the  nose  with  mangy  curs, 
And  fearful  says,  "  Come  play,  not  fight," 
Knows  not  the  draught  to  drown  his  fears; 
Knows  not  the  wine, 
The  ruby  shine. 

87 


J  DRINKISG  SOXG 

Poor  beggar,  breathless  in  yon  barn, 
Who  fears  a  mouse  to  move  thy  straw, 
Must  Conscience  pester  thee  all  night, 
And  fear  oppress  with  thoughts  of  law  ? 
O  dearth  of  wine. 
No  sleep  is  thine. 

Is  Bacchus  not  the  god  of  gods, 

Who  gives  to  Beauty's  cheeks  their  shine  ? 

O  Love,  thou  art  a  wingless  worm ; 

Wouldst  thou  be  winged,  fill  thee  with  wine; 

Fill  thee  with  wine, 

And  wings  be  thine. 

Then,  Bacchus,  rule  thy  merr>'  race. 
And  laws  like  thine  who  would  not  keep? 
And  when  fools  weep  to  hear  us  laugh. 
We'll  laugh,  ha!  ha!  to  see  them  weep. 
O  god  of  wine, 
My  soul  be  thine. 


MONEY 

WHEN  I  had  money,  money,  O! 
I  knew  no  joy  till  I  went  poor; 
For  many  a  false  man  as  a  friend 
Came  knocking  all  day  at  my  door. 

Then  felt  I  like  a  child  that  holds 
A  trumpet  that  he  must  not  blow 

Because  a  man  is  dead ;  I  dared 

Not  speak  to  let  this  false  world  know. 

Much  have  I  thought  of  life,  and  seen 
How  poor  men's  hearts  are  ever  light; 

And  how  their  wives  do  hum  like  bees 
About  their  work  from  morn  till  night. 

So,  when  I  hear  these  poor  ones  laugh, 
And  see  the  rich  ones  coldly  frown  — 

Poor  men,  think  I,  need  not  go  up 

So  much  as  rich  men  should  come  down. 
89 


MONEY 

When  I  had  money,  money,  O! 

My  many  friends  proved  all  untrue; 
But  now  I  have  no  money,  O ! 

My  friends  are  real,  though  very  few. 


90 


SADNESS  AND  JOY 

I  PRAY  you,  Sadness,  leave  me  soon. 
In  sweet  invention  thou  art  poor! 
Thy  sister,  Joy,  can  make  ten  songs 
While  thou  art  making  four. 

One  hour  with  thee  is  sweet  enough ; 

But  when  we  find  the  whole  day  gone 
And  no  created  thing  is  left  — 

We  mourn  the  evil  done. 

Thou  art  too  slow  to  shape  thy  thoughts 
In  stone,  on  canvas,  or  in  song; 

But  Joy,  being  full  of  active  heat, 
Must  do  some  deed  ere  long. 

Thy  sighs  are  gentle,  sweet  thy  tears ; 

But  if  thou  canst  not  help  a  man 
To  prove  in  substance  what  he  feels  — 

Then  give  me  Joy,  who  can. 
91 


SADNESS  AND  JOY 

Therefore,  sweet  Sadness,  leave  me  soon, 
Let  thy  bright  sister,  Joy,  come  more ; 

For  she  can  make  ten  lovely  songs 
While  thou  art  making  four. 


92 


FANCY'S  HOME 

TELL  me,  Fancy,  sweetest  child. 
Of  thy  parents  and  thy  birth 
Had  they  silk,  and  had  they  gold, 

And  a  park  to  wander  forth, 
With  a  castle  green  and  old  ? 

In  a  cottage  I  was  born, 

My  kind  father  was  Content, 

My  dear  mother  Innocence ; 
On  wild  fruits  of  wonderment 

I  have  nourished  ever  since. 


93 


HAPPY  WIND 

OH,  happy  wind,  how  sweet 
Thy  life  must  be! 
The  great,  proud  fields  of  gold 

Run  after  thee: 
And  here  are  flowers,  with  heads 

To  nod  and  shake; 
And  dreaming  butterflies 

To  tease  and  wake. 
Oh,  happy  wind,  I  say, 
To  be  alive  this  day. 


94 


SLEEP 

LIFE'S  angel  half,  sweet  Sleep, 
When,  like  the  mermaid,  thou 
In  all  thy  loveliness 
Dost  rise  from  out  the  deep 
Where  Life  is  foul  to  see  — 
Men  wake  to  scheme  and  sin, 
But  thou  dost  keep  them  pure 
In  that  sweet  hour  with  thee. 

The  flower  upon  the  hill, 
Where  caves  and  crags  and  peaks 
Carry  the  thunder  on 
After  the  heavens  are  still, 
Kjiows  thee :  as  that  cared  flower 
Within  some  sheltering  wood, 
And  houses  built  by  men, 
And  in  my  lady's  bower. 

If  Age  hath  followed  Truth, 
A  conscience  clean  and  pure 
Is  unto  him  as  is 
Sweet  Innocence  to  Youth; 
95 


SLEEP 

But  Age  and  Innocence 
Dost  thou,  sweet  Sleep,  reward: 
Thou  givest  rest  to  both, 
To  both  art  recompense. 

Yet  thou  hast  awful  power 
When  thou  art  lying  still 
And  breathing  quietly! 
Was  it  not  such  an  hour 
Dark  Murder  slunk  away, 
Fearing  thy  innocence 
More  than  the  watchfulness 
Of  men  in  armed  array  ? 

Thou  makest  War  to  cease 
Awhile,  and  armies  pause; 
And  in  the  midst  of  strife 
Thou  bringest  them  to  peace; 
The  tyrant  must  delay 
The  cruel  deed  at  thy  command; 
Oppressed  ones  know  thy  balm 
Can  take  their  fears  away. 


96 


WHEN  I  AM  OLD 

\  II  THEN  I  am  old,  and  it  is  spring, 
V  V    And  joy  leaps  dancing,  wild  and  free, 
Clear  out  of  every  living  thing, 

While  I  command  no  ecstasy; 
And  to  translate  the  songs  of  birds 
Will  be  beyond  my  power  in  words: 

When  time  serves  notice  on  my  Muse 
To  leave  at  last  her  lyric  home. 

With  no  extension  of  her  lease  — 
Then  to  the  blackest  pits  I  come. 

To  see  by  day  the  star's  cold  light, 

And  in  my  coffin  sleep  at  night. 

For  when  these  little  songs  shall  fail. 
These  happy  notes  that  to  the  world 

Are  puny  mole-hills,  nothing  more. 
That  unto  me  are  Alps  of  gold  — 

That  toad's  dark  life  must  be  my  own, 

Buried  alive  inside  a  stone, 
97 


JOY  AND  PLEASURE 

"VTOW,  Joy  is  born  of  parents  poor, 
-^  ^    And   Pleasure  of  our  richer  kind  ; 
Though  Pleasure's  free,  she  cannot  sing 
As  sweet  a  song  as  Joy  confined. 

Pleasure's  a  Moth,  that  sleeps  by  day 
And  dances  by  false  glare  at  night; 

But  Joy's  a  Butterfly,  that  loves 

To  spread  its  wings  in  Nature's  light. 

Joy's  like  a  Bee  that  gently  sucks 
Away  on  blossoms  its  sweet  hour; 

But  Pleasure's  like  a  greedy  Wasp, 

That  plums  and  cherries  would  devour. 

Joy's  like  a  Lark  that  lives  alone. 

Whose  tics  are  very  strong,  though  few ; 

But  Pleasure  like  a  Cuckoo  roams, 

Makes  much  acquaintance,  no  friends  true. 
98 


JOY  AND  PLEASURE 

Joy  from  her  heart  doth  sing  at  home, 

With  little  care  if  others  hear; 
But  Pleasure  then  is  cold  and  dumb, 

And  sings  and  laughs  with  strangers  near. 


99 


THE  HEAP  OF  RAGS 

ONE  night  when  I  went  down 
Thames'  side,   in  London  Town, 
A  heap  of  rags  saw  I, 
And  sat  me  down  close  by. 
That  thing  could  shout  and  bawl, 
But  showed  no  face  at  all ; 
When  any  steamer  passed 
And  blew  a  loud  shrill  blast, 
That  heap  of  rags  would  sit 
And  make  a  sound  like  it ; 
When  struck  the  clock's  deep  bell, 
It  made  those  peals  as  well. 
When  winds  did  moan  around, 
It  mocked  them  with  that  sound ; 
When  all  was  quiet,  it 
Fell  into  a  strange  fit; 
Would  sigh,  and  moan  and  roar. 
It  laughed,  and  blessed,  and  swore. 
Yet  that  poor  thing,  I  know, 
Had  neither  friend  nor  foe; 
Its  blessing  or  its  curse 
Made  no  one  better  or  worse. 

100 


THE  HEAP  OF  RAGS 

I  left  it  in  that  place  — 
The  thing  that  showed  no  face, 
Was  it  a  man  that  had 
Suffered  till  he  went  mad? 
So  many  showers  and  not 
One  rainbow  in  the  lot; 
Too  many  bitter  fears 
To  make  a  pearl  from  tears. 


THE  HAWK 

THOU  dost  not  fly,  thou  art  not  perched, 
The  air  is  all  around: 
What  is  it  that  can  keep  thee  set, 

From  falling  to  the  ground? 
The  concentration  of  thy  mind 

Supports  thee  in  the  air ; 
As  thou  dost  watch  the  small  young  birds, 
With  such  a  deadly  care. 

My  mind  has  such  a  hawk  as  thou. 

It  is  an  evil  mood  ; 
It  comes  when  there's  no  cause  for  grief, 

And  on  my  joys  doth  brood. 
Then  do  I  see  my  life  in  parts; 

The  earth  receives  my  bones, 
The  common  air  absorbs  my  mind  — 

It  knows  not  flowers  from  stones. 


1 02 


THE  WEEPING  CHILD 

WHAT  makes  thee  weep  so,  little  child, 
What  cause  hast  thou  for  all  this  grief  ? 
When  thou  art  old  much  cause  may  be, 
And  tears  will  bring  thee  no  relief. 

Thou  dost  not  know  thy  mother  yet, 
Thou'dst  sleep  on  any  bosom  near; 

Thou  dost  not  see  a  daughter  dying, 
No  son  is  coughing  in  thy  ear. 

Thy  father  is  a  bearded  man. 

Yet  any  bearded  man  could  take 

Thee  in  his  arms,  and  thou  not  know 

Which  man  would  die  for  thy  sweet  sake. 

What  makes  thee  weep  then,  little  child, 
What  cause  hast  thou  for  all  this  bother; 

Whose  father  could  be  any  man, 
And  any  woman  be  thy  mother? 


103 


SEEKING  BEAU«rY 

COLD  winds  can  never  freeze,  nor  thunder  sour 
The  cup  of  cheer  that  Beauty  draws  for  me 
Out  of  those  azure  Heavens  and  this  green  earth  — 
I  drink  and  drink,  and  thirst  the  more  I  see. 

To  see  the  dewdrops  thrill  the  blades  of  grass, 
Makes  my  whole  body  shake;  for  here's  my  choice 

Of  either  sun  or  shade,  and  both  are  green  — 
A  Chaffinch  laughs  in  his  melodious  voice. 

The  banks  are  stormed  by  Speedwell,  that  blue  flower 
So  like  a  little  Heaven  with  one  star  out  ; 

I  see  an  amber  lake  of  Buttercups, 

And  Hawthorn  foams  the  hedges  round  about. 

The  old  Oak  tree  looks  now  so  green  and  young, 
That  even  Swallows  perch  awhile  and  sing: 

This  is  that  time  of  j^ear,  so  sweet  and  warm, 
When  Bats  wait  not  for  Stars  ere  they  take  wing. 
104 


SEEKING  BEAUTY 

As  long  as  I  love  Beauty  I  am  young, 

Am  young  or  old  as  I  love  more  or  less; 

When  Beauty  is  not  heeded  or  seems  stale, 
My  life's  a  cheat,  let  Death  end  my  distress. 


105 


MARGERY 

THE  Butterfly  loves  IMignonette, 
And  every  moment  deeper  sips; 
When  Winds  do  shake  him  by  his  wings, 

He  fastens  tighter  with  his  lips; 
So  let  the  whole  world  make  me  shake, 
I  will  not  from  my  true  love  break. 

The  bird  is  perched  alone  and  sings, 
Not  all  the  rain  can  make  him  stop; 

In  sooth  he  singeth  more,  as  though 
He'd  sing  one  note  for  each  rain-drop; 

So,  like  that  bird,  to  his  heart  true, 

I'll  sing  through  showers  that  wet  me  through. 

A  thousand   trees  to  every  house, 

A  singing  bird  in  every  tree; 
And  in  the  midst  of  these  she  dwells. 

And  lives  for  me  —  doth  Margery; 
Where  we  can  take  our  sweet  love's  fill 
Shut  in  a  garden  green  and  still. 
1 06 


A  GREETING 

GOOD  morning,  Life  —  and  all 
Things  glad  and  beautiful. 
My  pockets  nothing  hold, 
But  he  that  owns  the  gold, 
The  Sun,  is  my  great  friend  — 
His  spending  has  no  end. 

Hail  to  the  morning  sky. 

Which  bright  clouds  measure  high; 

Hail  to  you  birds  whose  throats 

Would  number  leaves  by  notes; 

Hail  to  you  shady  bowers, 

And  you  green  fields  of  flowers. 

Hail  to  you  women  fair, 
That  make  a  show  so  rare 
In  cloth  as  white  as  milk  — 
Be't  calico  or  silk: 
Good  morning.  Life  —  and  all 
Things  glad  and  beautiful. 
107 


THE  HERMIT 

WHAT  moves  that  lonely  man  is  not  the  boom 
Of  waves  that  break  against  the  cliff  so  strong; 
Nor  roar  of  thunder,  when  that  travelling  voice 
Is  caught  by  rocks  that  carry  far  along. 

'Tis  not  the  groan  of  oak  tree  in  its  prime, 

When  lightning  strikes  its  solid  heart  to  dust; 

Nor  frozen  pond  when,  melted  by  the  sun, 
It  suddenly  doth  break  its  sparkling  crust. 

What  moves  that  man  is  when  the  blind  bat  taps 
His  window  when  he  sits  alone  at  night; 

Or  when  the  small  bird  sounds  like  some  great  beast 
Among  the  dead,  dry  leaves  so  frail  and  light. 

Or  when  the  moths  on  his  night-pillow  beat 

Such  heavy  blows  he  fears  they'll  break  his  bones; 

Or  when  a  mouse  inside  the  papered  walls. 

Comes  like  a  tiger  crunching  through  the  stones. 
I08 


THE  BIRD-MAN 

MAN  is  a  bird: 
He  rises  on  fine  wings 
Into  the  heaven's  clear  light; 
He  flies  away  and  sings  — 
There's  music  in  his  flight. 

Man  is  a  bird: 

In  swiftest  speed  he  burns, 
With  twist  and  dive  and  leap; 

A  bird  whose  sudden  turns 
Can  drive  the  frightened  sheep. 

Man  is  a  bird: 

Over  the  mountain  high, 
Whose  head  is  in  the  skies, 

Cut  from  its  shoulder  by 
A  cloud  —  the  bird-man  flies. 

Man  is  a  bird: 

Eagles  from  mountain  crag 
Swooped   down   to   prove  his  worth; 

But  now  they  rise  to  drag 
Him  down  from  Heaven  to  earth! 
109 


SHEEP 

WHEN  I  was  once  in  Baltimore, 
A  man  came  up  to  me  and  cried, 
"  Come,  I  have  eighteen  hundred  sheep. 
And  we  will  sail  on  Tuesday's  tide. 

"If  you  will  sail  with  me,  young  man, 
I'll  pay  you  fifty  shillings  down; 

These  eighteen  hundred  sheep  I  take 
From  Baltimore  to  Glasgow  town." 

He  paid  me  fifty  shillings  down, 

I  sailed  with  eighteen  hundred  sheep; 

We  soon  had  cleared  the  harbour's  mouth, 
We  soon  were  in  the  salt  sea  deep. 

The  first  night  we  were  out  at  sea 
Those  sheep  were  quiet  in  their  mind; 

The  second  night  they  cried  with  fear  — 
They  smelt  no  pastures  in  the  wind. 

110 


SHEEP 

They  sniffed,  poor  things,  for  their  green  fields, 
They  cried  so  loud  I  could  not  sleep: 

For  fifty  thousand  shillings  down 
I  would  not  sail  again  with  sheep. 


THE  IDIOT  AND  THE  CHILD 

THERE  was  a  house  where  an  old  dame 
Lived  with  a  son,  his  child  and  wife; 
And  with  a  son  of  fifty  years, 
An  idiot  all  his  life. 

When  others  wept  this  idiot  laughed. 

When  others  laughed  he  then  would  weep ; 

The  married  pair  took  oath  his  eyes 
Did  never  close  in  sleep. 

Death  came  that  way,  and  which  think  you 
Fell  under  that  old  tyrant's  spell? 

He  breathed  upon  that  little  child, 
Who  loved  her  life  so  well. 

This  made  the  idiot  chuckle  hard: 

The  old  dame  looked  at  that  child  dead 

And  him  she  loved  — "  Ah,  well ;  thank  God 
It  is  no  worse !  "  she  said. 
112 


STARERS 

THE  small  birds  peck  at  apples  ripe, 
And  twice  as  big  as  them  in  size; 
The  wind  doth  make  the  hedge's  leaves 

Shiver  with  joy,  until  it  dies. 
Young  Gossamer  is   in   the  field ; 

He  holds  the  flowers  with  silver  line  — 
They  nod  their  heads  as  horses  should. 

And  there  are  forty  dappled  kine 
As  fat  as  snails  in  deep,  dark  wells, 

And  just  as  shiny  too  —  as  they 
Lie  in  a  green  field,  motionless. 

And  every  one  now  stares  my  way. 
I  must  become  a  starer  too: 

I  stare  at  them  as  urchins  can 
When  seamen  talk,  or  any  child 

That  sees  by  chance  its  first  black  man. 
I  stare  at  drops  of  rain  that  shine 

Like  glowworms,  when  the  time  is  noon; 
I  stare  at  little  stars  in  Heaven, 

That  like  to  stare  like  the  big  Moon. 


13 


PLANTS  AND  MEN 

YOU  berries  once, 
In  early  hours, 
Were  pretty  buds, 
And  then  fair  flowers. 

Drop,  drop  at  once, 

Your  life  is  done; 
You  cannot  feel 

The  dew  or  sun. 

We  are  the  same. 

First  buds,  then  flowers; 
Hard  berries  then, 

In  our  last  hours. 

Sweet  buds,  fair  flowers, 
Hard  berries  then  — 

Such  is  the  life 

Of  plants  and  men. 


114 


THE  ONE  SINGER 

Tn\EAD  leaves  from  off  the  tree 
-*-^    Make  whirlpools  on  the  ground: 
Like  dogs  that  chase  their  tails, 

Those  leaves  go  round  and  round; 
Like  birds  unfledged  and  young, 

The  old  bare  branches  cry; 
Branches  that  shake  and  bend 

To  feel  the  winds  go  by. 

No  other  sound  is  heard, 

Save  from  those  boughs  so  bare  — 
Hark!  who  sings  that  one  song? 

'Tis  Robin  sings  so  rare. 
How  sweet!  like  those  sad  tunes 

In  homes  where  grief's  not  known ; 
Or  that  a  blind  girl  sings 

When  she  is  left  alone. 


15 


LINES  FROM  "THE  SOUL'S  DESTROYER 

WE  went  together  side  by  side  to  school, 
Together  had  our  holidajs  in  fields 
Made  golden  by  June's  buttercups ;  in  woods, 
Where  under  ferns  fresh  pulled  I  buried  her, 
And  called  her  forth  like  Lazarus  from  the  grave; 
She'd  laughing  come,  to  shake  her  curls  until 
Methought  to  hear  full  half  a  hundred  bells. 
A  grown-up  world  took  playful  notice  soon, 
Made  me  feel  shame  that  grew  a  greater  love; 
She  was  more  chary  of  her  laughter  then. 
And  more  subdued  her  voice,  as  soft  and  sweet 
As  Autumn's,  blowing  through  his  golden  reeds. 
In  her  sweet  sympathies  she  was  a  woman 
When  scarcely  she  was  more  than  child  in  years; 
And  yet  one  angry  moment  parted  us. 
And  days  of  longing  never  joined  us  more. 


i6 


APRIL'S  CHARMS 

WHEN  April  scatters  coins  of  primrose  gold 
Among  the  copper  leaves  in  thickets  old, 
And  singing  skylarks  from  the  meadows  rise, 
To  twinkle  like  black  stars  in  sunny  skies; 

When  I  can  hear  the  small  woodpecker  ring 
Time  on  a  tree  for  all  the  birds  that  sing;  \ 

And  hear  the  pleasant  cuckoo,  loud  and  long —  \ 

The  simple  bird  that  thinks  two  notes  a  song; 

When  I  can  hear  the  woodland  brook,  that  could 
Not  drown  a  babe,  with  all  his  threatening  mood ; 
Upon  whose  banks  the  violets  make  their  home. 
And  let  a  few  smiall  strawberry  blossoms  come: 

When  I  go  forth  on  such  a  pleasant  day. 
One  breath  outdoors  takes  all  my  care  away; 
It  goes  like  heavy  smoke,  when  flames  take  hold 
Of  wood  that's  green  and  fill  a  grate  with  gold. 


117 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SEA 

GONE  are  the  days  of  canvas  sails! 
No  more  great  sailors  tell  their  tales 
In  country  taverns,  barter  pearls 
For  kisses  from  strange  little  girls; 
And  u'hen  the  landlord's  merry  daughter 
Heard  their  rough  jokes  and  shrieked  with  laughter, 
They  threw  a  muffler  of  rare  fur 
That  hid  her  neck  from  ear  to  ear. 
Ho,  ho !  my  merry  men ;  they  know 
Where  gold  is  plentiful  —  Sail  ho ! 
How  they  did  love  the  rude  wild  Sea! 
The  rude,  unflattering  Sea;  for  he 
Will  not  lie  down  for  monarch's  yacht. 
No  more  than  merchant's  barge;  he'll  not 
Keep  graves  with  marks  of  wood  or  stone 
For  fish  or  fowl,  or  human  bone. 
The  Sea  is  loth  to  lose  a  friend ; 
Men  of  one  voyage,  who  have  spent 
Six  months  with  him,  hear  his  vexed  cry 
Haunting  their  houses  till  they  die. 
ii8 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SEA 

And  for  the  sake  of  him  they  let 

The  winds  blow  them,  and  raindrops  wet 

Their  foreheads  with  fresh  water  sprays  — 

Thinking  of  his  wild,  salty  days. 

And  well  they  love  to  saunter  near 

A  river,  and  its  motion  hear; 

And  see  ships  lying  in  calm  beds, 

That  danced  upon  seas'  living  heads ; 

And  in  their  dreams  they  hear  again 

Men's  voices  in  a  hurricane  — 

Like  ghosts  complaining  that  their  graves 

Are  moved  by  sacrilegious  waves. 

And  well  they  love  to  stand  and  hear 

The  old  seafaring  men  that  fear 

Land  more  than  water;  carts  and  trains 

More  than  wild  waves  and  hurricanes. 

And  they  will  walk  with  love  and  pride 

The  tattooed  mariner  beside  — 

Chains,  anchors  on  his  arm,  and  ships  — 

And  listen  to  his  bearded  lips. 

Ay,  they  will  hear  the  Sea's  vexed  cry 

Haunting  their  houses  till  they  die. 


119 


HER  ABSENCE 

HOW  rich  hath  Time  become  through  her, 
His  sands  are  turned  to  purest  gold! 
And  yet  it  grieves  my  heart  full  sore 

To  see  them  slipping  from  my  hold. 
How  precious  now  each  moment  is, 

Which  I  must  cast  like  ash  away ! 
My  only  hope  and  comfort  this  — 

Each  moment  will  return  that  day, 
On  that  blest  day,  that  joyful  hour 
W^hen  she  lies  willing  in  my  power. 

Nay,  these  rich  moments  are  not  lost, 

But,  like  the  morning's  dewdrops,  which 
Into  the  sun  their  brief  lives  cast, 

To  make  his  body  far  more  rich  — 
So  do  these  precious  moments  glide 

Into  her  being,  where  they  store; 
Until  I  clasp  her  as  my  bride. 

And  get  them  back  with  thousands  more ; 
Where  they  have  banked  in  her  dear  breast, 
And  saved  themselves  with  interest. 

120 


THE  DREAMING  BOY 

SWEET  are  thy  dreams,  thou  happy,  careless  hoy 
Thou  know'st  the  taste  of  immortality; 
No  weary  limbs  can  rest  upon  thy  heart ; 
Sleep  has  no  care  to  ease  thee  of  at  night ; 
The  same  move  shuts  together  eye  and  mind. 
And  in  the  morning  one  move  opens  both. 
Life  lies  before  thee,  hardly  stepped  on  yet, 
Like  a  green  prairie,  fresh,  and  full  of  flowers. 
Life  lies  before  thee  for  experiment, 
Until  old  age  comes,  whose  sad  eyes  can  trace 
A  better  path  he  missed,  with  fairer  flowers. 
Which  other  men  have  walked  in  misery. 
Thou  hast  no  knowledge  of  a  life  of  toil, 
How  hard  Necessity  destroys  our  dreams, 
And  castles  in  the  air  must  pay  him  tithes 
So  heavy  that  no  tenant  keeps  them  long. 
To  thee  the  world  is  still  unknown  and  strange; 
Still  full  of  wild  romance,  as  in  those  da3^s 
Ere  England  launched  her  forests  on  the  sea. 
Thou  wilt  discover  in  far  mountain  caves 
Deserted,  lamps  left  burning  for  thy  feet, 

121 


THE  DREAMING  BOY 

And  comfort  in  them  more  than  kings  are  worth. 

Ay,  many  a  gate  will  open  at  thy  call, 

And  wise  men  will  come  forth  to  welcome  thee, 

And  bells  will  ring  for  pleasure  in  thy  ear. 

Great  monsters  in  dark  woods,  with  mighty  mouths 

That  swallow  their  own  faces  when  they  yawn. 

And  mountain  bears  that  carry  on  their  backs 

Rough,  shaggy  coats  whose  price  compares  with  silk  - 

Will  fall  by  thy  strong,  right,  all-conquering  arm. 

And  who  can  stop  thee;  who  can  turn  thee  back? 

Not  giants,  though  they  stand  full  twenty  feet, 

And  sit  too  tall  for  common  men  to  stand. 

Oh,  that  sweet  magic  in  thee,  happy  boy! 

It  makes  a  golden  world  for  all  things  young. 

Thou  with  an  iron  ring,  a  piece  of  bone, 

A  rusty  blade,  or  half  a  yard  of  rope, 

Art  richer  than  a  man  with  mines  and  ships. 

The  child's  fresh  mind  makes  honey  out  of  soot. 

Sweeter  than  age  can  make  on  banks  of  flowers; 

He  needs  but  cross  a  bridge,  that  happy  boy. 

And  he  can  breathe  the  air  of  a  new  world. 

Sweet  children,  with  your  trust  in  this  hard   life  - 

Like  little  birds  that  ope  their  mouths  for  food 

From  hands  that  come  to  cage  them  till  they  die. 


WHOM  I  KNOW 

I   DO  not  know  his  grace  the  Duke, 
Outside  whose  gilded  gate  there  died 
Of  want  a  feeble,  poor  old  man, 
With  but  his  shadow  at  his  side. 

I  do  not  know  his  Lady  fair, 
Who  in  a  bath  of  milk  doth  lie; 

More  milk  than  could  feed  fifty  babes. 
That  for  the  want  of  it  must  die. 

But  well  I  know  the  mother  poor, 

Three  pounds  of  flesh  wrapped  in  her  shawl ; 
A  puny  babe  that,  stripped  at  home. 

Looks  like  a  rabbit  skinned,  so  small. 

And  well  I  know  the  homeless  waif, 

Fed  by  the  poorest  of  the  poor; 
Since  I  have  seen  that  child  alone. 

Crying  against  a  bolted  door. 


123 


THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC 

O  THOSE   sweet  notes,   so  soft   and   faint;   that 
seemed 
Locked  up  inside  a  thick-walled  house  of  stone ; 
And  then  that  sudden  rush  of  sound,  as  though 
The  doors  and  windows  were  wide-open  thrown. 

Do  with  me,  O  sweet  music,  as  thou  wilt, 
I  am  thy  slave  to  either  laugh  or  weep ; 

Thy  power  can  make  thy  slave  a  lover  proud, 
Or  friendless  man  that  has  no  place  to  sleep. 

I  hear  thy  gentle  whisper  and  again 

Hear  ripples  lap  the  quays  of  sheltered  docks; 
I  hear  thy  thunder  and  it  brings  to  mind 

Dark  Colorado  scaling  his  huge  rocks. 

I  hear  thy  joyous  cries  and  think  of  birds 
Delirious  when  the  sun  doth  rise  in  May; 

I  hear  thy  moans  and  think  me  of  poor  cows 
That  miss  at  night  the  calves  they  licked  by  day. 
124 


THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC 

I  hear  thee  wail  and  think  of  that  sad  queen 
Who  saw  her  lover's  disappearing  mast; 

How  she,  who  drank  and  wasted  a  rich  pearl  — 
To  prove  her  love  —  was  left  to  wail  at  last. 

Do  with  me,  O  sweet  Music,  as  thou  wilt; 

Till  even  thou  art  robbed  by  jealous  Sleep 
Of  those  sweet  senses  thou  hast  forced  from  me- 

And  I  can  neither  laugh  with  thee  nor  weep. 


125 


THE  MUSE 

I  HAVE  no  ale, 
No  wine  I  u  ant ; 
No  ornaments, 

My  meat  is  scant. 

No  maid  is  near, 
I  have  no  wife; 

But  here's  my  pipe 
And,  on  my  life: 

With  it  to  smoke, 
And  woo  the  Muse, 

To  be  a  king 

I  would  not  choose. 

But  I  crave  all. 

When  she  does  fail  - 
Wife,  ornaments, 

Meat,  wine  and  ale. 


[26 


THE  OWL 

THE  boding  Owl,  that  in  despair 
Doth  moan  and  shiver  on  warm  nights- 
Shall  that  bird  prophesy  for  me 

The  fall  of   Heaven's  eternal  lights? 

When  in  the  thistled  field  of  Age 

I  take  my  final  walk  on  earth 
Still  will  I  make  that  Owl's  despair 

A  thing  to  fill  my  heart  with  mirth. 


127 


MY  LADY  COMES 

PEACE,  mournful  Bee,  with  that 
Man's  deep  voice  from  the  grave; 
My  Lady  comes,  and  Flowers 

Make  all  their  colours  wave; 
And  joyful  shivers  seize 
The  hedges,  grass  and  trees. 

My  Lady  comes,  and  Leaves 
Above  her  head  clap  hands; 

The  Cow  stares  o'er  the  field, 

Up  straight  the  Horse  now  stands; 

Under  her  loving  eyes 

Flowers  change  to  Butterflies. 

The  Grass  comes  running  up 

To  kiss  her  coming  feet; 
Then  cease  your  grumble.  Bee, 

When  I  my  Lady  meet; 
And  Arch,  let  not  your  stones 
Turn  our  soft  sighs  to  groans. 
128 


THE  DAISY 

I   KNOW  not  why  thy  beauty  should 
Remind  me  of  the  cold,  dark  grave  — 
Thou  Flower,  as  fair  as  Moonlight,  when 
She  kissed  the  mouth  of  a  black  Cave. 


All  other  Flowers  can  coax  the  Bees, 
All  other  Flowers  are  sought  but  thee: 

Dost  thou  remind  them  all  of  Death, 
Sweet  Flower,  as  thou  remindest  me? 

Thou  seemest  like  a  blessed  ghost. 

So  white,  so  cold,  though  crowned  with  gold 
Among  these  glazed  Buttercups, 

And  purple  Thistles,  rough  and  bold. 

When  I  am  dead,  nor  thought  of  more. 
And  gone  from  human  memory  — 

Grow  you  on  my  forsaken  grave. 
And  win  for  me  a  stranger's  sigh. 
129 


THE  DAISY 

A  day  or  two  the  lilies  fade; 

A  month,  ay  less,  no  friends  are  seen: 
Then,  claimant  to  forgotten  graves, 

Share  my  lost  place  with  the  wild  green. 


130 


FAIRIES,  TAKE  CARE 

A  THOUSAND  blessings,  Puck,  on  you 
For  knotting  that  long  grass  which  threw 
Into  my  arms  a  maid  ;  for  we 
Have  told  our  love  and  kissed,  and  she 
Will  lie  a-bed  in  a  sweet  fright. 
So,  all  ye  Fairies  who  to-night 
May  take  that  stormy  passage  where 
Her  bosom's  quicksands  are,  take  care 
Of  whirlpools  too :  beware  all  you 
Of  that  great  tempest  Love  must  brew. 
The  waves  will  rock  your  breath  near  out; 
First  sunk,  then  tossed  and  rolled  about. 
Now  on  your  heads,  now  on  your  feet  — 
You'll  be  near  swamped  and,  for  life  sweet, 
Be  glad  to  cross  that  stormy  main. 
And  stand  on  something  firm  again. 
Would  I  could  see  her  while  she  sleeps. 
And  smiles  to  feel  you  climb  those  steeps, 
Where  }'ou  at  last  will  stand  up  clear 
Upon  their  cherry  tops,  and  cheer. 
And  that  ye  are  not  lost,  take  care. 
In  that  deep  forest  of  her  hair: 
131 


FAIRIES,  TAKE  CARE 

Yet  ye  may  enter  naked  stark, 

It  gets  more  warm  as  it  gets  dark. 

So,  Fairies,  fear  not  any  harm, 

While  in  those  woods  so  dark  and  warm. 


132 


A  BLIND  CHILD 

HER  baby  brother  laughed  last  night, 
The  blind  child  asked  her  mother  why; 
It  was  the  light  that  caught  his  eye. 
Would  she  might  laugh  to  see  that  light! 

The  presence  of  a  stiffened  corse 
Is  sad  enough ;  but,  to  my  mind. 
The  presence  of  a  child  that's  blind, 

In  a  green  garden,  is  far  worse. 

She  felt  my  cloth  —  for  worldly  place ; 

She  felt  my  face  —  if  I  was  good; 

My  face  lost  more  than  half  its  blood, 
For  fear  her  hand  would  wrongly  trace. 

We're  in  the  garden,  where  are  bees 
And  flowers,  and  birds,  and  butterflies; 
One  greedy  fledgling  runs  and  cries 

For  all  the  food  his  parent  sees! 
133 


A  BLIND  CHILD 

I  see  them  all :  flowers  of  all  kind, 
The  sheep  and  cattle  on  the  leas; 
The  houses  up  the  hills,  the  trees - 

But  I  am  dumb,  for  she  is  blind. 


134 


THOU  COMEST,  MAY 

THOU  comest,  May,  with  leaves  and  flowers, 
And  nights  grow  short,  and  days  grow  long; 
And  for  thy  sake  in  bush  and  tree, 

The  small  birds  sing,  both  old  and  young; 
And  only  I  am  dumb  and  wait 
The  passing  of  a  fish-like  state. 

You  birds,  you  old  grandfathers  now. 

That  have  such  power  to  welcome  spring, 

I,  but  a  father  in  my  years. 

Have  nothing  in  my  mind  to  sing; 

My  lips,  like  gills  in  deep-sea  homes 

Beat  time,  and  still  no  music  comes. 


135 


THE  BEST  FRIEND 

NOW  shall  I  walk 
Or  shall  I  ride? 
"Ride,"  Pleasure  said; 
"  Walk,"  Joy  replied. 

Now  what  shall  I  — 

Stay  home  or  roam  ? 
"  Roam,"  Pleasure  said ; 

And  Joy — "stay  home." 

Now  shall  I  dance, 

Or  sit  for  dreams? 
"  Sit,"  answers  Joy; 

"  Dance,"  Pleasure  screams. 

Which  of  ye  two 

Will  kindest  be? 
Pleasure  laughed  sweet, 

But  Joy  kissed  me. 


136 


RICH  DAYS 

WELCOME  to  you  rich  Autumn  days, 
Ere  comes  the  cold,  leaf-picking  wind ; 
When  golden  stocks  are  seen  in  fields, 

All  standing  arm-in-arm  entwined  ; 
And  gallons  of  sweet  cider  seen 
On  trees  in  apples  red  and  green. 

With  mellow  pears  that  cheat  our  teeth, 
Which  melt  that  tongues  may  suck  them  in ; 

With  blue-black  damsons,  jtIIow  plums, 
Now  sweet  and  soft  from  stone  to  skin; 

And  woodnuts  rich,  to  make  us  go 

Into  the  loneliest  lanes  we  know. 


137 


THE  WAYS  OF  TIME 

AS  butterflies  are  but  winged  flowers, 
Half  sorry  for  their  change,  who  fain, 
So  still  and  long  they  lie  on  leaves, 
Would  be  thought  flowers  again 

E'en  so  my  thoughts,  that  should  expand, 
And  grow  to  higher  themes  above, 

Return  like  butterflies  to  lie 
On  the  old  things  I  love. 


138 


THE  BIRD  OF  PARADISE 

HERE  comes  Kate  Summers  who,  for  gold, 
Takes  any  man  to  bed: 
"You  knew  my  friend,  Nell  Barnes,"  said  she; 
"You  knew  Nell  Barnes  —  she's  dead. 

"  Neil  Barnes  was  bad  on  all  you  men. 

Unclean,  a  thief  as  well; 
Yet  all  my  life  I  have  not  found 

A  better  friend  than  Nell. 

"  So  I  sat  at  her  side  at  last. 

For  hours,  till  she  was  dead ; 
And  yet  she  had  no  sense  at  all 

Of  any  word  I  said. 

"  For  all  her  cry  but  came  to  this  — 
'Not  for  the  world!     Take  care: 

Don't  touch  that  bird  of  paradise. 
Perched  on  the  bed-post  there ! ' 
139 


THE  BIRD  OF  PARADISE 

"  I  asked  her  would  she  like  some  grapes, 
Some  damsons  ripe  and  sweet ; 

A  custard  made  with  new-laid  eggs, 
Or  tender  fowl  to  eat. 

"  I  promised  I  would  follow  her, 

To  see  her  in  her  grave ; 
And  buy  a  wreath  with  borrowed  pence, 

If  nothing  I  could  save. 

"  Yet  still  her  cry  but  came  to  this  — 
*  Not  for  the  world !     Take  care: 

Don't  touch  that  bird  of  paradise, 
Perched  on  the  bed-post  there ! '  " 


140 


THIS  WORLD 

WHO  dreams  a  sweeter  life  than  this, 
To  stand  and  stare,  when  at  this  fence, 
Back  into  those  dumb  creatures'  eyes. 

And   think   we  have  their   innocence  — 
Our  looks  as  open  as  the  skies. 

Lambs  with  their  legs  and  noses  black, 
Whose  woolly  necks,  so  soft  and  white, 

Can  take  away  the  children's  breath ; 

Who'd    strangle    them    in    their   delight  — 

And  calves  they'd  worry  half  to  death. 

This  world's  too  full  of  those  dull  men 
Who  ne'er  advance  from  that  first  state 

Which  opens  mouths  before  the  eye ; 

Who,  when  they  think  of  dumb  things,  rate 

Them  by  the  body's  gluttony. 


141 


A  WOMAN'S  CHARMS 

MY  purse  is  yours,  Sweet  Heart,  for  I 
Can  count  no  coins  with  you  close  by; 
I  scorn  like  sailors  them,  when  they 
Have  drawn  on  shore  their  deep-sea  pay; 
Only  my  thoughts  I  value  now. 
Which,  like  the  simple  glow-worms,  throw 
Their  beams  to  greet  thee  bravely.   Love  — 
Their  glorious  light  in   Heaven  above. 
Since  I  have  felt  thy  waves  of  light, 
Beating  against  my  soul,  the  sight 
Of  gems  from  Africa's  continent 
Move  me  to  no  great  wonderment. 
Since  I,  Sweet  Heart,  have  known   thine  hair. 
The  fur  of  ermine,  sable,  bear, 
Or  silver  fox,  for  me  can  keep 
No  more  to  praise  than  common  sheep. 
Though  ten  Isaiahs'  souls  were  mine, 
They  could  not  sing  such  charms  as  thine. 
Two  little  hands  that  show  with  pride. 
Two  timid,  little  feet  that  hide; 
Two  eyes  no  dark  Senoras  show 
Their  burning  like  in  Mexico; 
142 


A  WOMAN'S  CHARMS 

Two  coral  gates  wherein  is  shown 

Your  queen  of  charms  on  a  white  throne; 

Your  queen  of  charms,  the  lovely  smile 

That  on  its  white  throne  could  beguile 

The  mastiff  from  his  gates  in  hell ; 

Who  by  no  whine  or  bark  could  tell 

His  masters  what  thing  made  him  go  — 

And  countless  other  charms  I  know. 

October's  hedge  has  far  less  hues 

Than   thou  hast  charms  from   which   to  choose. 


143 


THE  LODGING  HOUSE  FIRE 

MY  birthday  —  yesterday, 
Its  hours  were  twenty-four; 
Four  hours  I  lived  lukevvarm, 
And  killed  a  score. 

Eight  bells  and  then  I  woke, 
Came  to  our  fire  below, 
Then  sat  four  hours  and  watched 
Its  sullen  glow. 

Then  out  four  hours  I  walked, 
The  lukewarm  four  I  live, 
And  felt  no  other  joy 
Than  air  can  give. 

My  mind  durst  know  no  thought. 
It  knew  my  life  too  well: 
'Twas  hell  before,  behind, 
And  round  me  hell. 
144 


THE  LODGING  HOUSE  FIRE 

Back  to  that  fire  again, 
Ten  hours  I  watch  it  now, 
And  take  to  bed  dim  eyes 
And  fever's  brow. 

Ten  hours  I  give  to  sleep. 
More  than  my  need,  I  know ; 
But  I  escape  my  mind 
And  that  fire's  glow. 

For  listen:  it  is  death 
To  watch  that  fire's  glow; 
For,  as  it  burns  more  red 
Men  paler  grow. 

0  better  in  foul  room 
That's  warm,  make  life  away, 
Than  homeless  out  of  doors. 
Cold  night  and  day. 

Pile  on  the  coke,  make  fire, 
Rouse  its  death-dealing  glow; 
Men  are  borne  dead  away 
Ere  they  can  know. 

1  lie;  I  cannot  watch 

Its  glare  from  hour  to  hour; 
145 


THE  LODGING  HOUSE  FIRE 

It  makes  one  sleep,  to  wake 
Out  of  my  power. 

I  close  my  eyes  and  swear 
It  shall  not  wield  its  power; 
No  use,  I  wake  to  find 
A  murdered  hour. 

Lying  between  us  there! 
That  fire  drowsed  me  deep, 
And  I  wrought  murder's  deed  — 
Did  it  in  sleep. 

I  count  us,  thirty  men. 
Huddled    from   Winter's   blow% 
Helpless  to  move  away 
From  that  fire's  glow. 

So  goes  my  life  each  day  — 
Its  hours  are  tw^enty-four  — 
Four  hours  I  live  lukewarm, 
And  kill  a  score. 

No  man  lives  life  so  wise 
But  unto  Time  he  throws 
Morsels  to  hunger  for 
At  his  life's  close. 
146 


THE  LODGING  HOUSE  FIRE 

Were  all  such  morsels  heaped  — 
Time  greedily  devours, 
When  man  sits  still  —  he'd  mourn 
So  few  wise  hours. 

But  all  my  day  is  waste, 
I  live  a  lukewarm  four 
And  make  a  red  coke  fire 
Poison  the  score. 


147 


BODY  AND  SPIRIT 

WHO  stands  before  me  on  the  stairs: 
Ah,  is  it  you,  my  love? 
My   candle-light   burns   through   your   arm, 

And  still  thou  dost  not  move; 
Thy  body's  dead,  this  is  not  you  — 
It  is  thy  ghost  my  light  burns  through. 

Thy  spirit  this:  I  leap  the  stairs, 

To  reach  thy  body's  place; 
I  kiss  and  kiss,  and  still  there  comes 

No  colour  to  thy  face; 
I  hug  thee  for  one  little  breath  — 
For  this  is  sleep,  it  is  not  death! 


The  first  night  she  was  in  her  grave, 
And  I  looked  in  the  glass, 

I  saw  her  sit  upright  in  bed  — 
Without  a  sound  it  was; 

I  saw  her  hand  feel  in  the  cloth. 

To  fetch  a  box  of  powder  forth. 
148 


BODY  AND  SPIRIT 

She  sat  and  watched  me  all  the  while, 

For  fear  I  looked  her  way; 
I  saw  her  powder  cheek  and  chin, 

Her  fast  corrupting  clay 
Then  down  my  lady  lay,  and  smiled  — 
She  thought  her  beauty  saved,  poor  child. 

Now  down  the  stairs  I  leap  half-mad. 

And  up  the  street  I  start; 
I  still  can  see  her  hand  at  work, 

And  Oh,  it  breaks  my  heart: 
All  night  behind  my  back  I  see 
Her  powdering,  with  her  eyes  on  me. 


149 


CATHARINE 

WE  children  every  morn  would  wait 
For  Catharine,  at  the  garden  gate: 
Behind  school-time,  her  sunny  hair 
Would  melt  the  master's  frown  of  care, 
What  time  his  hand  but  threatened  pain, 
Shaking  aloft  his  awful  cane; 
So  here  one  summer's  morn  we  wait 
For  Catharine  at  the  garden  gate. 
To  Dave  I  say  — "  There's  sure  to  be 
Some  coral  isle  unknown  at  sea, 
And  —  if  I  see  it  first — 'tis  mine! 
But  I'll  give  it  to  Catharine." 
"  When  she  grows  up,"  says  Dave  to  me, 
"  Some  ruler  in  a  far  countree. 
Where  every  voice  but  his  is  dumb, 
Owner  of  pearls,  and  gold,  and  gum, 
Will  build  for  her  a  shining  throne, 
Higher  than  his,  and  near  his  own; 
And  he,  who  would  not  list  before, 
Will  listen  to  Catharine,  and  adore 
Her  face  and  form ;  and,"  Dave  went  on  - 
When  came  a  man  there  pale  and  wan, 
150 


CATHARINE 

Whose  face  was  dark  and  wet  though  kind, 
He,  coming  there,  seemed  like  a  wind 
Whose  breath  is  rain,  yet  will  not  stop 
To  give  the  parched  flowers  a  drop: 
"  Go,  children,  to  your  school,"  he  said 
"  And  tell  the  master  Catharine's  dead." 


151 


STRONG  MOMENTS 

SOMETIMES  I  hear  fine  ladies  sing. 
Sometimes  I  smoke  and  drink  with  men; 
Sometimes  I  play  at  games  of  cards  — 
Judge  me  to  be  no  strong  man  then. 

The  strongest  moment  of  my  life 
Is  when  I  think  about  the  poor ; 

WTien,  like  a  spring  that  rain  has  fed, 
My  pity  rises  more  and  more. 

The  flower  that  loves  the  warmth  and  light, 
Has  all  its  mornings  bathed  in  dew ; 

My  heart  has  moments  wet  with  tears, 
Mv  weakness  is  they  are  so  few. 


THE  LITTLE  ONES 

THE  little  ones  are  put  in  bed, 
And  both  are  laughing,  lying  down: 
Their  father,  and  their  mother  too, 
Are  gone  on  Christmas-eve  to  town. 

"  Old  Santa  Claus  will  bring  a  horse, 
Gee  up,"  cried  little  Will,  with  glee; 

"  If  I  am  good,  I'll  have  a  doll 

From  Santa  Claus  " —  laughed  Emily. 

The  little  ones  are  gone  to  sleep, 
Their  father  and  their  mother  now 

Are  coming  home,  with  many  more  — 
They're  drunk,  and  make  a  merry  row. 

The  little  ones  on  Christmas  morn 

Jump  up,  like  skylarks  from  the  grass; 

And  then  they  stand  as  still  as  stones. 
And  just  as  cold  as  stones,  Alas! 
153 


THE  LITTLE  ONES 

No  horse,  no  doll  beside  their  bed, 
No  sadder  little  ones  could  be; 

"  We  did  some  wrong,"  said  little  Will  — 
"  We  must  have  sinned,"  sobbed  Emily. 


154 


NIGHT  WANDERERS 

THEY  hear  the  bell  of  midnight  toll, 
And  shiver  in  their  flesh  and  soul ; 
They  lie  on  hard,  cold  wood  or  stone, 
Iron,  and  ache  in  every  bone; 
They  hate  the  night:  they  see  no  eyes 
Of  loved  ones  in  the  starlit  skies. 
They  see  the  cold,  dark  water  near; 
They  dare  not  take  long  looks  for  fear 
They'll  fall  like  those  poor  birds  that  see 
A  snake's  eyes  staring  at  their  tree. 
Some  of  them  laugh,  half-mad ;  and  some 
All  through  the  chilly  night  are  dumb ; 
Like  poor,  weak  infants  some  converse, 
And  cough  like  giants,  deep  and  hoarse. 


55 


LOVE'S  COMING 

AN  hour  or  more  she's  gone, 
And  we  are  left  alone, 
I  and  her  bird. 
At  last  he  twittered  sweet, 
To  hear  my  loved  one's  feet. 
And  I,  too,  heard. 

When  she  had  entered  there 
He  cocked  his  head  with  care, 
If  right  or  wrong; 
But  when  her  voice  was  heard 
A  frenzy  seized  the  bird 
To  rave  in  song. 

"  Peace,  pet,  my  love  is  near, 
Her  voice  I  cannot  hear 
In  such  a  din  ; 

Thou  couldst  not  call  more  loud 
Unto  a  smiling  cloud 
That  May  hides  in." 
156 


LOVE'S  COMING 

Now,  what  his  thoughts  could  be- 

If  she  still  spake  and  he 

In  harmony; 

Or  had  forgetful  grown, 

Enamoured  of  his  own 

Sweet  melody  — 

Is  not  my  say ;  I  know 

I  out  with  her  must  go 

To  hear  her  story. 

We  left  that  raving  thing  — 

Made  worse  by  laughter  —  sing 

Out  his  mad  glory. 


t57 


WHERE  WE  DIFFER 

TO  think  my  thoughts  all  hers, 
Not  one  of  hers  is  mine; 
She  laughs  —  while  I  must  sigh; 
She  sings  —  while  I  must  whine. 

She  eats  —  while  I  must  fast; 

She  reads  —  while  I  am  blind  ; 
She  sleeps — while  I  must  wake; 

Free — I  no  freedom  find. 

To  think  the  world  for  me 

Contains  but  her  alone, 
And  that  her  eyes  prefer 

Some  ribbon,  scarf,  or  stone. 


158 


PARTED 

ALACK  for  life! 
Worn  to  a  stalk  since  yesterday 
Is  the  flower  with  whom  the  bee  did  stay, 
And  he  was  but  one  night  away. 
Alack  for  life,  I  say. 

Alack  for  life! 

A  flower  put  on  her  fine  array, 

In  hopes  a  bee  would  come  her  way, 

Who's  dying  in  his  hive  this  day. 

Alack  for  life,  I  say. 

Alack  for  life! 

If  Death  like  Love  would  throw  his  dart 
And  pierce  at  once  a  double  heart, 
And  not  to  strike  away  one  part  — 
Alack  for  life,  who'd  say? 


159 


THE  BLIND  BOXER 

T  TE  goes  with  basket,  and  slow  feet, 
-^  -■-    To  sell  his  nuts  from  street  to  street ; 
The  very  terror  of  his  kind, 
Till  blackened  eyes  had  made  him  blind. 
Ay,  this  is  Boxer  Bob,  the  man 
That  had  hard  muscles  harder  than 
A  schoolboy's  bones;  who  he.ld  his  ground 
When  six  tall  bullies  sparred  around. 
Small  children  now,  that  have  no  grace, 
Can  steal  his  nuts  before  his  face; 
And,  when  he  threatens  with  his  hands. 
Mock  him  two  feet  from  where  he  stands; 
Mock  him  who  could,  some  years  ago, 
Have  leapt  five  feet  to  strike  a  blow. 
Poor  Bobby,  I  remember  when 
Thou  wert  a  god  to  drunken  men ; 
But  now  they  push  thee  off,  or  crack 
Thy  nuts  and  give  no  money  back ; 
They  swear  they'll  strike  thee  in  the  face. 
Dost  thou  not  hurr>'  from  that  place; 
Such  are  the  men  that  once  would  pay 
To  keep  thee  drunk  from  day  to  day. 
1 60 


THE  BLIND  BOXER 

With  all  thy  strength  and  cunning  skill, 
Thy  courage,  lasting  breath,  and  will, 
Thou'rt  helpless  now;  a  little  ball, 
No  bigger  than  a  cherry  small, 
Has  now  refused  to  guide  and  lead 
Twelve  stone  of  strong,  hard  flesh  that  need 
But  that  ball's  light  to  make  thee  leap 
And  strike  these  cowards  down  like  sheep. 
Poor,  helpless  Bobby,  blind:  I  see 
Thy  working  face  and  pity  thee. 


i6i 


NOW 

WHEN  I  was  in  yon  town,  and  had 
Stones  all  round  me,  hard  and  cold. 
My  flesh  was  firm,  my  sight  was  keen, 
And  still  I  felt  my  heart  grow  old. 

But  now,  with  this  green  world  around, 
By  my  great  love  for  it!  I  swear. 

Though  my  flesh  shrink,  and  my  sight  fail. 
My  heart  will  not  grow  old  with  care. 

When  I  do  hear  these  joyful  birds, 
I  cannot  sit  with  my  heart  dumb ; 

I  cannot  walk  among  these  flowers, 
But  I  must  help  the  bees  to  hum. 

My  heart  has  echoes  for  all  things, 
The  wind,  the  rain,  the  bird  and  bee; 

'Tis  I  that  —  now  —  can  carry  Time, 
Who  in  that  town  must  carry  me. 
162 


NOW 

I  see  not  now  the  great  coke  fire 
With  ten  men  seated  there,  or  more, 

Like  frogs  on  logs;  and  one  man  fall 
Dying  across  the  boarded  floor. 

I  see  instead  the  flowers  and  clouds, 
I  hear  the  rills,  the  birds  and  bees: 

The  Squirrel  flies  before  the  storm 
He  makes  himself  in  leafy  trees. 


163 


CLOUDS 

MY  Fancy  loves  to  play  with  Clouds 
That  hour  by  hour  can  change  Heaven's  face; 
For  I  am  sure  of  my  delight, 
In  green  or  stony  place. 

Sometimes  they  on  tall  mountains  pile 

Mountains  of  silver,  tvtice  as  high ; 
And  then  they  break  and  lie  like  rocks 

All  over  the  wide  sky. 

And  then  I  see  flocks  very  fair; 

And  sometimes,  near  their  fleeces  white. 
Are  small,  black  lambs  that  soon  will  grow 

And  hide  their  mothers  quite. 

Sometimes,  like  little  fishes,  they 

Are  all  one  size,  and  one  great  shoal; 

Sometimes  they  like  big  sailing  ships 
Across  the  blue  sky  roll. 
164 


CLOUDS 

Sometimes  I  see  small  Cloudlets  tow 
Big,  heavy  Clouds  across  those  skies  — 

Like  little  Ants  that  carry  off 
Dead  Moths  ten  times  their  size. 

Sometimes  I  see  at  morn  bright  Clouds 
That  stand  so  still,  they  make  me  stare ; 

It  seems  as  they  had  trained  all  night 
To  make  no  motion  there. 


165 


THE  POSTS 

A  YEAR'S  a  post,  on  which 
It  saith 
The   distance  —  growing   less  — 
To  Death. 

Some  posts  I  missed,  beguiled 

By  Song 
And  Beauty,  as  I  passed 

Along. 

But  sad  am  I  to  think 

This  day 
Of  forty  posts  passed  on 

My  way. 

For  not  one  post  I  now 

Must  pass 
Will  'scape  these  eyes  of  mine, 

Alas! 


i66 


NO  MASTER 

INDEED   this  is  sweet  life!   my  hand 
Is  under  no  proud  man's  command; 
There  is  no  voice  to  break  my  rest 
Before  a  bird  has  left  its  nest; 
There  is  no  man  to  change  my  mood, 
Would  I  go  nutting  in  the  wood ; 
No  man  to  pluck  my  sleeve  and  say  — 
I  want  thy  labour  for  this  day; 
No  man  to  keep  me  out  of  sight, 
When  that  dear  Sun  is  shining  bright. 
None  but  my  friends  shall  have  command 
Upon  my  time,  my  heart  and  hand ; 
I'll  rise  from  sleep  to  help  a  friend. 
But  let  no  stranger  orders  send, 
Or  hear  my  curses  fast  and  thick. 
Which   in  his  purse-proud  throat  will  stick 
Like  burs.     If  I  cannot  be  free 
To  do  such  work  as  pleases  me, 
Near  woodland  pools  and  under  trees, 
You'll  get  no  work  at  all ;  for  I 
Would  rather  live  this  life  and  die 
A  beggar  or  a  thief,  than  be 
A  working  slave  with  no  days  free. 
167 


RICH  OR  POOR 

WITH  thy  true  love  I  have  more  wealth 
Than  Charon's  piled-up  bank  doth  hold; 
Where  he  makes  kings  lay  down  their  crown 
And  lifelong  misers  leave  their  gold. 

Without  thy  love  I've  no  more  wealth 

Than  seen  upon  that  other  shore; 
That  cold,  bare  bank  he  rows  them  to  — 

Those  kings  and  misers  made  so  poor. 


[68 


THE  SEA 

HER  cheeks  were  white,  her  eyes  were  wild, 
Her  heart  was  with  her  sea-gone  child. 
"  Men  say  you  know  and  love  the  sea? 
It  is  ten  days,  my  child  left  me ; 
Ten  days,  and  still  he  doth  not  come. 
And  I  am  weary  of  my  home." 

I  thought  of  waves  that  ran  the  deep 
And  flashed  like  rabbits,  when  they  leap. 
The  white  part  of  their  tails;  the  glee 
Of  captains  that  take  brides  to  sea, 
And  own  the  ships  they  steer;  how  seas 
Played  leapfrog  over  ships  with  ease. 

The  great  Sea-Wind,  so  rough  and  kind ; 
Ho,  ho!  his  strength;  the  great  Sea-wind 
Blows  iron  tons  across  the  sea! 
Ho,  ho !  his  strength ;  how  wild  and  free ! 
He  breaks  the  waves,  to  our  amaze, 
Into  ten  thousand  little  sprays! 
169 


THE  SEA 

"  Nay,  have  no  fear  ";  I  laughed  with  joy, 
"  That  you  have  lost  a  sea-gone  boy ; 
The  Sea's  wild  horses,  they  are  far 
More  safe  than  Land's  tamed  horses  are; 
They  kick  with  padded  hoofs,  and  bite 
With  teeth  that  leave  no  marks  in  sight. 

"  True,  Waves  will  howl  when,  all  day  long 
The  Wind  keeps  piping  loud  and  strong; 
For  in  ship's  sails  the  wild  Sea-Breeze 
Pipes  sweeter  than  your  birds  in  trees; 
But  have  no  fear  " —  I  laughed  with  joy, 
"  That  you  have  lost  a  sea-gone  bey." 

That  night  I  saw  ten  thousand  bones 
Coffined  in  ships,  in  weeds  and  stones; 
Saw  how  the  Sea's  strong  jaws  could  take 
Big  iron  ships  like  rats  to  shake; 
Heard  him  still  moan  his  discontent 
For  one  man  or  a  continent. 

I  saw  that  woman  go  from  place 
To  place,  hungry  for  her  child's  face; 
I  heard  her  crj'ing,  crying,  crying; 
Then,  in  a  flash !  saw  the  Sea  trying. 
With  savage  joy,  and  efforts  wild. 
To  smash  his  rocks  with  a  dead  child. 
170 


A  LIFE'S  LOVE 

HOW  do  I  love  to  sit  and  dream 
Of  that  sweet  passion,  when  I  meet 
The  lady  I  must  love  for  life ! 

The  very  thought  makes  my  Soul  beat 
Its  wings,  as  though  it  saw  that  light 
Silver  the  rims  of  my  black  night. 

I  see  her  bring  a  crimson  mouth 

To  open  at  a  kiss,  and  close ; 
I  see  her  bring  her  two  fair  cheeks. 

That  I  may  paint  on  each  a  rose ; 
I  see  her  two  hands,  like  doves  white. 
Fly  into  mine  and  hide  from  sight. 

In  fancy  hear  her  soft,  sweet  voice; 

My  eager  Soul,  to  catch  her  words, 
Waits  at  the  ear,  with  Noah's  haste 

To  take  God's  message-bearing  birds; 
What  passion  she  will  in  me  move  — 
The  Lady  I  for  life  must  love! 
171 


SWEET  CHILD 

SWEET  child,  that  wast  my  bird  by  day, 
My  bird  that  never  failed  in  song; 
That  on  my  bosom  wast  a  bee. 
And  layst  there  all  night  long: 

No  more  I'll  hear  thy  voice  at  noon. 

For  Death  has  pierced  thee  with  a  thorn ; 

No  more  thou'lt  sleep  upon  my  breast. 
And  trample  it  at  morn. 

Then  break,  oh  break,  poor  empty  cage. 
The  bird  is  dead,  thy  use  is  done; 

And  die,  poor  plant,  for  your  sweet  bee 
Is  gone,  forever  gone. 


[72 


DEATH'S  GAME 

DEATH  can  but  play  one  game  with  me 
If  I  live  here  alone; 
He  cannot  strike  me  a  foul  blow 
Through  a  beloved  one. 

To-day  he  takes  my  neighbour's  wife, 

And  leaves  a  little  child 
To  lie  upon  his  breast  and  cry 

Like  the  Night-wind,  so  wild. 

And  every  hour  its  voice  is  heard  — 

Tell  me  where  is  she  gone! 
Death  cannot  play  that  game  with  me  — 

If  I  live  here  alone. 


173 


APRIL  BOYS  AND  GIRLS 

OF  primrose  boys 
April  has  many; 
He  seems  as  fond 
Of  them  as  any ; 
He  shows  the  world 
Those  boys  in  gold. 

But  violets  are 

His  girls,  whom  he 

Shuts  up  in  some 
Green  nunnery: 

So  does  he  prove 

His  deepest  love. 

April,  a  girl 

Of  yours  is  found; 
High  walls  of  grass 

Hemmed  her  around: 
April,  forgive  me  — 
I  followed  a  bee. 
174 


NEWCOMERS 

SO  many  birds  have  come  along, 
The  nightingale  brings  her  sweet  song, 
With  lease  to  charm,  by  her  own  self, 
The  nights  of  this  best  month  in  twelve. 
To  sit  up  all  a  night  in  June 
With  that  sweet  bird  and  a  full  moon  — 
The  moon  with  all  Heav'n  for  her  worth, 
The  nightingale  to  have  this  earth, 
And  there  we  are  for  joy  —  we  three. 
And  here's  the  swallow,  wild  and  free, 
Prince  flyer  of  the  air  by  day; 
For  doth  he  not,  in  human  way, 
Dive,  float,  and  use  side  strokes,  like  men 
Swimming  in  some  clear  lake?     And  then, 
See  how  he  skates  the  iceless  pond ! 
And  lo !  the  lark  springs  from  the  land ; 
He  sees  a  ladder  to  Heaven's  gate, 
And,  step  by  step,  without  abate. 
He  mounts  it  singing,  back  and  forth; 
Till  twenty  steps  or  more  from  earth, 
On  his  return,  then  without  sound 
He  jumps,  and  stone-like  drops  to  ground. 
175 


NEWCOMERS 

And  here  are  butterflies:  poor  things 
Amazed  with  new-created  wings; 
They  in  the  air-waves  roll  distrest 
Like  ships  at  sea ;  and  when  the}'  rest 
They  cannot  help  but  ope  and  close 
Their  wings,  like  babies  with  their  toes. 


176 


SWEET  YOUTH 

AND  art  thou  gone,  sweet  Youth?     Say  Nay! 
For  dost  thou  know  what  power  was  thine, 
That  thou  couldst  give  vain  shadows  flesh, 

And  laughter  without  any  wine. 
From  the  heart  fresh  ? 

And  art  thou  gone,  sweet  Youth?     Say  Nay! 

Not  left  me  to  Time's  cruel  spite  ; 
He'll  pull  my  teeth  out  one  by  one, 

He'll  paint  my  hair  first  grey,  then  white. 
He'll  scrape  my  bone. 

And  art  thou  gone,  sweet  Youth?     Alas! 

Forever  gone !     I  know  it  well ; 
Earth  has  no  atom,  nor  the  sky. 

That  has  not  thrown  the  kiss  Farewell  — 
Sweet  Youth,  Good-Bye! 


177 


A  PLAIN  LIFE 

NO  idle  gold  —  since  this  fine  sun,  my  friend, 
Is  no  mean  miser,  but  doth  freely  spend. 

No  precious  stones  —  since  these  green  mornings  show, 
Without  a  charge,  their  pearls  where'er  I  go. 

No  lifeless  books  —  since  birds  with  their  sweet  tongues 
Will  read  aloud  to  me  their  happier  songs. 

No  painted  scenes  —  since  clouds  can  change  their  skies 
A  hundred  times  a  day  to  please  my  eyes. 

No  headstrong  wine  —  since,  while  I  drink,  the  spring 
Into  my  eager  ears  will  softly  sing. 

No  surplus  clothes  —  since  every  simple  beast 
Can  teach  me  to  be  happy  with  the  least. 


178 


HEAVEN 

^  I  ""HAT  paradise  the  Arab  dreams, 

■*•      Is  for  less  sand  and  more  fresh  streams. 
The  only  heaven  an  Indian  knows, 
Is  hunting  deer  and  buffaloes. 
The  Yankee  heaven  —  to  bring  Fame  forth 
By  some  freak  show  of  what  he's  worth. 
The  heaven  that  fills  an  English  heart, 
Is  Union  Jacks  in  every  part. 
The  Irish  heaven  is  heaven  of  old, 
When  Satan  cracked  skulls  manifold. 
The  Scotsman  has  his  heaven  to  come  — 
To  argue  his  Creator  dumb. 
The  Welshman's  heaven  is  singing  airs  — 
No  matter  who  feels  sick  and  swears. 


179 


ALE 

NOW  do  I  hear  thee  weep  and  groan, 
Who  hath  a  comrade  sunk  at  sea? 
Then  quaff  thee  of  my  good  old  ale, 
And  it  will  raise  him  up  for  thee ; 
Thou'lt  think  as  little  of  him  then 
As  when  he  moved  with  living  men. 

If  thou  hast  hopes  to  move  the  world, 

And  every  effort  it  doth  fail, 
Then  to  thy  side  call  Jack  and  Jim, 

And  bid  them  drink  with  thee  good  ale; 
So  may  the  world,  that  would  not  hear, 
Perish  in  hell  with  all  your  care. 

One  quart  of  good  old  ale,  and  I 
Feel  then  what  life  immortal  is: 

The  brain  is  empty  of  all  thought. 

The  heart  is  brimming  o'er  with  bliss ; 

Time's  first  child.  Life,  doth  live;  but  Death, 

The  second,  hath  not  yet  his  breath. 
1 80 


ALE 

Give  me  a  quart  of  good  old  ale, 
Am  I  a  homeless  man  on  earth  ? 

Nay,  I  want  not  your  roof  and  quilt, 
I'll  lie  warm  at  the  moon's  cold  hearth : 

No  grumbling  ghost  to  grudge  my  bed, 

His  grave,  ha!  ha!  holds  up  my  head. 


i8i 


THE  LIKENESS 

WHEN  I  came  forth  this  morn  I  saw 
Quite  twenty  cloudlets  in  the  air; 
And  then  I  saw  a  flock  of  sheep, 

Which  told  me  how  those  clouds  came  there. 

That  flock  of  sheep,  on  that  green  grass. 
Well  might  it  lie  so  still  and  pioud! 

Its  likeness  had  been  drawn  in  heaven, 
On  a  blue  sky,  in  silvery  cloud. 

I  gazed  me  up,  I  gazed  me  down, 

And  swore,  though  good  the  likeness  was, 

'Twas  a  long  way  from  justice  done 

To  such  white  wool,  such  sparkling  grass. 


182 


A  FLEETING  PASSION 

THOU  shalt  not  laugh,  thou  shalt  not  romp, 
Let's  grimly  kiss  with  bated  breath ; 
As  quietly  and  solemnly 
As  Life  when  it  is  kissing  Death. 
Now  in  the  silence  of  the  grave, 
My  hand  is  squeezing  that  soft  breast ; 
While  thou  dost  in  such  passion  lie. 
It  mocks  me  with  its  look  of  rest. 

But  when  the  morning  comes  at  last, 
And  we  must  part,  our  passions  cold, 
You'll  think  of  some  new  feather,  scarf 
To  buy  with  my  small  piece  of  gold ; 
And  I'll  be  dreaming  of  green  lanes. 
Where  little  things  with  beating  hearts 
Hold  shining  eyes  between  the  leaves. 
Till  men  with  horses  pass,  and  carts. 


183 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MARINER 

A     DEAR  old  couple  my  grandparents  were, 
•^  ^     And  kind  to  all  dumb  thing;  they  saw  in  Heaven 
The  lamb  that  Jesus  petted  when  a  child ; 
Their  faith  was  never  draped  by  Doubt:  to  them 
Death  was  a  rainbow  in  Eternity, 
That  promised  everlasting  brightness  soon. 
An  old  seafaring  man  was  he ;  a  rough 
Old  man,  but  kind ;  and  hairy,  like  the  nut 
Full  of  sweet  milk.     All  day  on  shore  he  watched 
The  winds  for  sailors'  wives,  and  told  what  ships 
Enjoyed  fair  weather,  and  what  ships  had  storms; 
He  watched  the  sky,  and  he  could  tell  for  sure 
What  afternoons  would  follow  stormy  morns, 
If  quiet  nights  would  end  wild  afternoons. 
He  leapt  away  from  scandal  with  a  roar. 
And  if  a  whisper  still  possessed  his  mind. 
He  walked  about  and  cursed  it  for  a  plague. 
He  took  offence  at  Heaven  when  beggars  passed, 
And  sternly  called  them  back  to  give  them  help. 

In  this  old  captain's  house  I  lived,  and  things 
That  house  contained  were  in  ships'  cabins  once: 
184 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MARINER 

Sea-shells  and  charts  and  pebbles,  model  ships ; 
Green  weeds,  dried  fishes  stuffed,  and  coral  stalks; 
Old  wooden  trunks  with  handles  of  spliced  rope. 
With  copper  saucers  full  of  monies  strange, 
That  seemed  the  savings  of  dead  men,  not  touched 
To  keep  them  warm  since  their  real  owners  died ; 
Strings  of  red  beads,  methought  were  dipped  in  blood, 
And  swinging  lamps,  as  though  the  house  might  move ; 
An  ivory  lighthouse  built  on  ivory  rocks. 
The  bones  of  fishes  and  three  bottled  ships. 
And  many  a  thing  was  there  which  sailors  make 
In  idle  hours,  when  on  long  voyages, 
Of  marvellous  patience,  to  no  lovely  end. 
And  on  those  charts  I  saw  the  small  black  dots 
That  were  called  islands,  and  I  knew  they  had 
Turtles  and  palms,  and  pirates'  buried  gold. 

There  came  a  stranger  to  my  grandad's  house. 
The  old  man's  nephew,  a  seafarer  too ; 
A  big,  strong  able  man  who  could  have  walked 
Tom  Barium's  hill  all  clad  in  iron  mail ; 
So  strong  he  could  have  made  one  man  his  club 
To  knock  down  others  —  Henry  was  his  name, 
No  other  name  was  uttered  by  his  kin. 
And  here  he  was,  insooth  illclad,  but  oh. 
Thought  I,  what  secrets  of  the  sea  are  his! 
This  man  knows  coral  islands  in  the  sea, 
185 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MARINER 

And  dusky  girls  heartbroken  for  white  men  ; 

This  sailor  knows  of  wondrous  lands  afar, 

More  rich  than  Spain,  when  the  Phoenicians  shipped 

Silver  for  common  ballast,  and  they  saw 

Horses  at  silver  mangers  eating  grain ; 

This  man  has  seen  the  wind  blow  up  a  mermaid's  hair 

Which,  like  a  golden  serpent,  reared  and  stretched 

To  feel  the  air  away  beyond  her  head. 

He  begged  my  pennies,  which  I  gave  with  joy  — 

He  will  most  certainly  return  some  time 

A  self-made  king  of  some  new  land,  and  rich. 

Alas  that  he,  the  hero  of  my  dreams. 

Should  be  his  people's  scorn ;  for  they  had  rose 

To  proud  command  of  ships,  whilst  he  had  toiled 

Before  the  mast  for  years,  and  well  content ; 

Him  they  despised,  and  only  Death  could  bring 

A  likeness  in  his  face  to  show  like  them. 

For  he  drank  all  his  pay,  nor  went  to  sea 

As  long  as  ale  was  easy  got  on  shore. 

Now,  in  his  last  long  voyage  he  had  sailed 
From  Plymouth  Sound  to  where  sweet  odours  fan 
The  Cingalese  at  work,  and  then  back  home  — 
But  came  not  near  his  kin  till  pay  was  spent. 
He  was  not  old,  yet  seemed  so ;  for  his  face 
Looked  like  the  drowned  man's  in  the  morgue,  when  it 
Has  struck  the  wooden  wharves  and  keels  of  ships. 
1 86 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MARINER 

And  all  his  flesh  was  pricked  with  Indian  ink, 
His  body  marked  as  rare  and  delicate 
As  dead  men  struck  by  lightning  under  trees, 
And  pictured  with  fine  twigs  and  curled  ferns; 
Chains  on  his  neck  and  anchors  on  his  arms ; 
Rings  on  his  fingers,  bracelets  on  his  wrist ; 
And  on  his  breast  the  Jane  of  Appledore 
Was  schooner  rigged,  and  in  full  sail  at  sea. 
He  could  not  whisper  with  his  strong  hoarse  voice, 
No  more  than  could  a  horse  creep  quietly; 
He  laughed  to  scorn  the  men  that  muffled  close 
For  fear  of  wind,  till  all  their  neck  was  hid, 
Like  Indian  corn  wrapped  up  in  long  green  leaves. 
He  knew  no  flowers  but  seaweeds  brown  and  green. 
He  knew  no  birds  but  those  that  followed  ships. 
Full  well  he  knew  the  water-world ;  he  heard 
A  grander  music  there  than  we  on  land, 
When  organ  shakes  a  church ;  swore  he  would  make 
The  sea  his  home,  though  it  was  always  roused 
By  such  wild  storms  as  never  leave  Cape  Horn ; 
Happy  to  hear  the  tempest  grunt  and  squeal 
Like  pigs  heard  dying  in  a  slaughterhouse. 
A  true-born  mariner,  and  this  his  hope  — 
His  coflfin  would  be  what  his  cradle  was, 
A  boat  to  drown  in  and  be  sunk  at  sea ; 
To  drown  at  sea  and  lie  a  dainty  corpse 
Salted  and  iced  in  Neptune's  larder  deep. 
187 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MARINER 

This  man  despised  small  coasters,  fishing  smacks; 
He  scorned  those  sailors  who  at  night  and  morn 
Can  see  the  coast,  when  in  their  little  boats 
They  go  a  six  days'  voyage  and  are  back 
Home  with  their  wives  for  every  Sabbath  day. 
Much  did  he  talk  of  tankards  of  old  beer, 
And  bottled  stuff  he  drank  in  other  lands, 
Which  was  a  liquid  fire  like  Hell  to  gulp, 
But  Paradise  to  sip. 

And  so  he  talked  ; 
Nor  did  those  people  listen  with  more  awe 
To  Lazarus  —  whom  they  had  seen  stone  dead  — 
Than  did  we  urchins  to  that  seaman's  voice. 
He  many  a  tale  of  wonder  told:  of  where, 
At  Argostoli,  Cephalonia's  sea 
Ran  over  the  earth's  lip  in  heavy  floods ; 
And  then  again  of  how  the  strange  Chinese 
Conversed  much  as  our  homely  Blackbirds  sing. 
He  told  us  how  he  sailed  in  one  old  ship 
Near  that  volcano  Martinique,  whose  power 
Shook  like  dry  leaves  the  whole  Caribbean  seas; 
And  made  the  Sun  set  in  a  sea  of  fire 
Which  only  half  was  his;  and  dust  was  thick 
On  deck,  and  stones  were  pelted  at  the  mast. 
So,  as  we  walked  along,  that  seaman  dropped 
Into  my  greedy  ears  such  words  that  sleep 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MARINER 

Stood  at  my  pillow  half  the  night  perplexed. 
He  told  how  isles  sprang  up  and  sank  again, 
Between  short  voyages,  to  his  amaze; 
How  they  did  come  and  go,  and  cheated  charts; 
Told  how  a  crew  was  cursed  when  one  man  killed 
A  bird  that  perched  upon  a  moving  barque ; 
And  how  the  sea's  sharp  needles,  firm  and  strong, 
Ripped  open  the  bellies  of  big,  iron  ships; 
Of  mighty  icebergs  in  the  Northern  seas, 
That  haunt  the  far  horizon  like  white  ghosts. 
He  told  of  waves  that  lift  a  ship  so  high 
That  birds  could  pass  from  starboard  unto  port 
Under  her  dripping  keel. 


Oh,  it  was  sweet 
To  hear  that  seaman  tell  such  wondrous  tales : 
How  deep  the  sea  in  parts,  that  drowned  men 
Must  go  a  long  way  to  their  graves  and  sink 
Day  after  day,  and  wander  with  the  tides. 
He  spake  of  his  own  deeds ;  of  how  he  sailed 
One  summer's  night  along  the  Bosphorus, 
And  he, —  who  knew  no  music  like  the  wash 
Of  waves  against  a  ship,  or  wind  in  shrouds  — 
Heard  then  the  music  on  that  woody  shore 
Of  nightingales,  and  feared  to  leave  the  deck, 
He  thought  'twas  sailing  into  Paradise. 

189 


THE  CHILD  AND  THE  MARINER 

To  hear  these  stories  all  we  urchins  placed 
Our  pennies  in  that  seaman's  ready  hand ; 
Until  one  mom  he  signed  for  a  long  cruise, 
And  sailed  away  —  we  never  saw  him  more. 
Could  such  a  man  sink  in  the  sea  unknown? 
Nay,  he  had  found  a  land  with  something  rich, 
That  kept  his  eyes  turned  inland  for  his  life. 
"  A  damn  bad  sailor  and  a  landshark  too, 
No  good  in  port  or  out  " —  my  grandad  said. 


FINIS 


190 


"Borzoi"  stands  for  the  best  in  litera- 
ture in  all  its  branches — drama  and  fiction, 
poetry  and  art.  "Borzoi"  also  stands  for 
unusually  pleasing  book-making. 

Borzoi  Books  are  good  books  and  there 
is  one  for  every  taste  worthy  of  the  name. 
A  few  are  briefly  described  on  the  next 
page.  Mr.  Knopf  will  be  glad  to  see  that 
you  are  notified  regularly  of  new  and  forth- 
coming Borzoi  Books  if  you  will  send  him 
your  name  and  address  for  that  purpose. 
He  will  also  see  that  your  local  dealer  is 
suppKed. 


Address  THE   BORZOI 

220  West  Forty-Second  Street 

New  York 


The  New  Borzoi  Books 

Published   b);   ALFRED   A.  KNOPF 


TALES  OF  THE  PAMPAS  By  W.  H.  Hudson,  author  of  "Green 
Mansions."  Including  what  Edward  Garnett  calls  "the  finest  short 
story  in  English."     Three-color  jacket.  $1.25 

A  DRAKE  I  BY  GEORGE!  By  John  Trevena.  A  perfectly 
delightful  tale  of  Devonshire,  with  plot  and  humor  a-plenty.        $1 .50 

THE  CRUSHED  FLOWER  From  the  Russian  of  Leonid  Andreyev. 
Three  novelettes  and  some  great  short  stories  by  this  master.       $1 .50 

JOURNALISM  VERSUS  ART  By  Max  Eastman.  A  brilliant 
and  sccurching  analysis  of  what  is  wrong  with  our  magazine  writing  and 
illustrations.     Many  pictures  of  unusual  interest.  $1 .00 

MODERN  RUSSIAN  HISTORY  From  the  Russian  of  Alexander 
Kornilov.  The  only  work  in  English  that  comes  right  down  to  the 
present  day.     Two  volumes,  boxed,  per  set.  $5.00 

THE  RUSSIAN  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING  From  the  Russian  of 
Alexandre  Benois,  with  an  introduction  by  Christian  Brinton  and  thirty- 
two  full-page  plates.     The  only  survey  in  English.  $3.00 

SUSSEX  GORSE  By  Sheila  Kaye-Smith.  A  wonderfully  vigorous 
and  powerful  novel  of  Sussex.     A  really  masterly  book.  $1.50 

RUSSIA'S  MESSAGE  By  William  English  Walling,  with  3 1  illus- 
trations.  A  new  and  revised  edition  of  this  most  important  work.    $2.00 

WAR  From  the  Russian  of  Michael  Artzibashef,  author  of  "Sanine." 
A  four-act  play  of  unusual  power  and  strength.  $  1 .00 

MORAL  From  the  German  of  Ludwig  Thoma.  A  three-act  comedy 
that  is  unlike  anything  ever  attempted  in  English.  $1 .00 

MOLOCH  By  Beulah  Marie  Dix.  Probably  the  most  thrilling  play 
ever  written  about  war.  $  1 .00 

THE  INSPECTOR-GENERAL  From  the  Russian  of  Nicolai 
Gogol,  author  of  "Tareis  Bulba."  The  first  adequate  version  in  English 
of  this  masterpiece  of  comedy.  $  1 .00 

THE  SHAVING  OF  SHAGPAT  A  handsome  holiday  edition 
of  George  Meredith's  Arabian  Entertainment.  With  fifteen  beautiful 
plates  and  an  introduction  by  George  Eliot.     Qyarto.  $5.00 

All  prices  are  net. 
220    WEST    FORTY- SECOND    STREET,    NEW    YORK 


ORNIA  LIBRARY 


